


Taking Steps Is Easy (Standing Still Is Hard)

by unoriginalrhombus



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/F, Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 54,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unoriginalrhombus/pseuds/unoriginalrhombus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Best friends are tricky things b/c Quinn went all in w/the assumption that their friendship would last forever due to loyalty, love, etc. Only for their friendship to be torn apart by something as simple as someone else. Someone who isn't Quinn. And maybe that's why it gets to her, maybe that's why it hurts, maybe that's why she cares, b/c none of it is Quinn."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART ONE  (All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Um, this first chapter is mostly Quinn centric, the next few will delve a little bit more into the Quinntana debacle and how it continues. Certain parts might feel glossed over, I did that intentionally because I feel like that's how Quinn would deal with things. Acknowledging them but not giving them further thought. Anyway, please read and review and enjoy! I only have plans for this to be a few chapters long. Please don't panic, haha, I know I have a lot of stories.

Her Grandma Lucy used to tell her the same story every night before bed when she was little-long before Quinn was cynical and long before her Grandmother's dementia took everything away that had made her  _great_.

"Listen here, Lucy," her grandma would start, her eyes peering over her glasses. "This isn't a story for the faint of heart. It's only a story for the brave."

Quinn, with her footie pajamas and her brave six year old heart would always puff out her chest at this part, because she believed that she was the bravest of them all. She was especially more brave than Frannie-Frannie, who was afraid to squish a bug or have a boy not like her back. Frannie, who was fourteen and scared of everything Quinn wasn't.

"I'm brave!" She would shout.

Her grandmother would smile and tuck her in, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Ah, but are you brave enough for love?"

At this, Quinn would always frown. She made mud pies for her daddy and she wore those stupid dresses to church for her mommy and she even kept Frannie's hidden diary spot a secret. She ate all her vegetables and held her grandma's hand when crossing the street-even though she really didn't need help anymore because she was a big girl. She cleaned her room and listened to her parents and kissed them goodnight. To her,  _that_  was love, and it required no bravery. It was as easy as breathing.

"Of course," Quinn would huff out, upset that her grandma would ever assume that she wouldn't be.

Grandma Lucy would smile and nod, and Quinn would always remember why she really loved her.

" _Well,"_ Grandma Lucy would say, " _Everyone has this clock that's counting down to the moment when you meet your soul mate. Sometimes you meet them, sometimes you keep them, and sometimes you let them go."_

* * *

**(THIS IS HOW IT WORKS)**

They meet when Quinn is ten.

Quinn is a little chubby and a lot of quiet, the bravery that used to flow so freely through her veins has been shrouded with fear and expectations. She doesn't want an adventure or bravery anymore, she just wants to be the girl her parents want her to be, and that includes getting to her ballet class on _time_.

There was nobody to blame but herself, she had gotten caught up in a pastime of Lucy's (stopping to smell the roses, and watch the people, and look at the world) and she hadn't realized how late it was until the class bell was ringing. It was fitting in a sense because Lucy was always late to the party, even if the party was just a dance rehearsal that she didn't really want to be at anyway.

But she's here and she's going to make an effort because her parents want her to, and she doesn't want to disappoint them. Not when her dad's been spending more and more time at work and not when her mom keeps having "extra" glasses of wine, and not while her grandmother is having a hard time remembering who she is and not while Quinn is having a hard time remembering the things that made Quinn love her.

Quinn shakes her head because she doesn't want to think about things that make her sad, it's too hard, so instead she rushes through the corridors, her flats sliding all over the newly waxed floor.

She's running so quickly and moving so carelessly that Quinn doesn't see any sign of Santana Lopez until she's tripping over a discarded backpack and falling clumsily in a way that Lucy was all too good at.

She hesitates once she hits the ground, because even though Lucy was good at falling, she was never particularly skilled at getting back up, and Quinn has to grasp her bearings before she can remind herself how to do it.

Quinn peers up at the only other person in the hallway, mostly out of curiosity and partly out of blame. If her eyes could spell accusation, she'd be spelling it out in spades. Whatever that means.

When her eyes focus on the girl a few feet away from her, a part of Quinn wants to laugh. She recognizes Santana. She recognizes Santana like children recall memories: messily and with a strange amount of accuracy.

Santana Lopez at ten is about as terrifying as a baby chihuahua. It helps that Quinn has seen her around since preschool-Lima likes to pretend that it has all the possibilities of an actual city, but it really is just a small country town. It's hard to be scared of someone who used to cry every time they were forced to eat jello.

Santana's different now, Quinn notices. She wonders, briefly, if Santana is different in the way that Quinn is now, too.

Quinn ignores the thought and continues to stare openly at Santana. She's not intimidating like her older brother and she's not the same little girl who used to cry over snack time. Instead, Santana Lopez at ten is awkward looking and has too many hard angles that are covered up by too baggy of clothes.

She doesn't look like trouble-not at first glance- or anything that Quinn shouldn't associate with. But upon closer inspection there's this noticeable glint in her eyes that screams mischievous, and when Quinn squints, it's easy to see how much Santana is like her older brother.

Santana doesn't apologize, she just looks at Quinn like she should have known better than to be running through the halls-which, she did, she totally did, and she would have apologized for not being more careful if Lucy wasn't disappearing as quickly as her baby fat.

A part of her wants to resort to old tendencies because Lucy wasn't good at many things, but she was smart and she was curious and she sometimes did things she wasn't supposed to. Lucy was brave and Quinn...Quinn is good at following orders.

Things are different now, Quinn thinks. Dad's stop paying attention, Mom's don't ask you how your day is and Grandma's grow up to forget who you are, there's no time for Lucy in a world that relies on self efficiency.

There's no time to love or challenge or think when you could be  _succeeding._

So Quinn stands and brushes herself off (the way that she imagines Lucy wouldn't ever do). She contemplates what she should do next because Lucy was never very good at making friends and Quinn never quite knew what to say, so instead of saying anything Quinn just pulled her face into a sneer (exactly like how Frannie had taught her) and directed it towards Santana.

Santana grabs her backpack of the floor without acknowledging Quinn's sneer and puts her arms through the straps. Santana narrows her eyes when Quinn continues to sneer, her body unmoving.

"Are you retarded or something?" Santana asks, her question brash and offensive.

Quinn rears her head back, her whole body in  _awe_  that somebody her own age would ever dare utter words so harsh. She's never seen a sentence like that met with anything other than soap and it's kind of a surprise when an adult  _doesn't_ appear out from a classroom, a frown on their face and a punishment in their hands.

"No," Quinn answers after a few moments of silence.

Santana shrugs, her hands waving away Quinn's response. "Then do you want to help?"

Santana's pointing at this glass case that's to Quinn's right. It's full of photos of old ballet dancers and ballet classes and she can't help but be a little curious as to what Santana needs help with. Especially when said help involves the glass case that holds some of her older sisters awards. Quinn had recognized it immediately because Frannie used to always point it out.

This is where things get tricky because Quinn isn't the type of girl to run afoul with a complete stranger. She's not the type of girl to do anything, really, not anymore. She's not even sure what Santana's up to exactly but she knows it can't be good, she can tell from the way that Santana is looking at her, as though she's imploring her quietly to just  _take a chance_.

Quinn looks away because she can't handle it. It's a curse from Lucy, heavy gazes make her uncomfortable. So instead she focuses her attention on the glass display case. Quinn can see Frannie's perfect face and her perfect smile (relating to her perfect, uneventful life), even from where she's standing, and in a split second she decides that whatever  _this_  is going to be, it'll worth it.

"Okay."

* * *

Quinn has been best friends with Santana Lopez for as long as she can remember.

(well, five years, actually. But often that felt like a  _lifetime.)_

What started as an impromptu hangout all those years ago blossomed into a full grown friendship. Her father had been furious all those years ago when he heard how she had skipped ballet class (the thing he assumed would make Quinn better) to hang out with some girl who had more of a mouth than she had kindness.

Then he found out who Santana's father was, and everything changed.

Santana's father was the  _only_  plastic surgeon around for miles. He was wealthy and sought after and his social circle was something Russell could never get into, not even on his best day.

During those first few years Quinn often felt like a pawn in her father's game of chess. He used her, he moved her, and eventually he conquered what he needed to. It didn't change her friendship with Santana but it did change her relationship with her father, something that he has been able to unchange since.

Things are pretty much the same. Well, except for when they're not.

Santana isn't the awkward girl with weird angles anymore. She's filled out in a way that makes all the boys at McKinley go crazy. She's still mischievous, but she's also talented and good at math.

Quinn isn't anything like the girl she was when she was ten, at least not physically. Somewhere between thirteen and now she grew six inches, her hair lightened, she got contacts, and her appearance started being called  _timeless_  instead of just being a waste of time.

Quinn thinks about it sometimes, when she's not stuck at another insane Cheerios practice or lounging around at Santana's. She thinks about how weird it is to start one place and end up somewhere completely else. She's grateful, though, because she thinks that there's a lot of things that could have gone differently and if they had, maybe Quinn wouldn't have made it out alive.

They've changed because they've aged, but the important things, the things that will matter until forever, those haven't.

They still love each other fiercely. They still spend as much time as they possibly can together. They're still best friends, even in the ways that don't always count.

Santana is still the brash girl Quinn met when she was ten. She's still brave and rude and a handful, and she still protects Quinn like she's made of glass. She still goes on adventures and sometimes she'll even make Quinn come, too.

**(CHEERIOS.)**

Quinn is still quiet and calculating, the only difference is now those things work in her favor. She's cold to everyone but Santana and she spends more time ignoring her empty house than she spends talking to her parents.

Their dynamic works because they love each other and that's the only thing they really need to succeed.

Quinn still goes to visit her grandma every Saturday, even though it rarely helps. She goes to visit and she retells the stories her grandma used to tell her all those years ago, a part of her hoping that they'll both find something they lost along the way. Sometimes it works, sometimes her grandma calls her Judy, and sometimes Quinn just thinks about how some things change in the worst way.

Afterwards, she always hopes that her and Santana don't change in the worst ways because her relationship with Santana is the sanest thing she has, and she just might drown in this ocean of life if she doesn't have at least one buoy to hang on to.

The truth is: everything else in Quinn's life is complicated, to this day, but whenever Santana's around...she just has a way of un-complicating things. The truth is that when Quinn pivots right, Santana always pivots with her, and everything just fits so well and runs so smooth that Quinn can't help but feel like they were always meant to be together somehow.

* * *

The summer before their Junior year is when things start to change. Not outrageously or even in a way that makes sense. Quinn just...feels different and she can't figure out why.

They're lying down near Santana's pool, their bathing suits skimpy and their skin glistening from the heat, when Quinn first feels like something is shifting.

Santana has this tiny, black, Calvin Klein two-piece on and has these enormous coach shades and her hair is up in a bun. She looks like a model, is Quinn's thought, because Santana is the prettiest girl around. It's a fact more than it's a nice gesture.

Santana turns around so that her stomach and chest are facing the sun, her arm covering her eyes. Quinn just continues to watch her, just like always, curious as to what Santana will do next.

Santana sighs in an extravagant way, like lying there is taking too much effort. "Puckerman asked me out."

Curious, Quinn sits up, her gaze solely focused on Santana now. "Really?"

Santana tilts her head to the side so that she's peering up at Quinn. "Yeah."

Quinn had never thought about it before because the subject had honestly never come up. Santana rarely expressed an interest in the boys at McKinley and even though Quinn had always thought i was odd, she had always liked it that way. She enjoyed being the only priority of Santana, and maybe that made Quinn selfish or weird, but whatever. She wasn't one to be particular with things, but she was always particular with Santana.

Quinn let's out a short, foolish laugh. "What did he say when you told him no?"

Santana, ever the mystery, looked away. "I didn't."

_(This is when things get weird.)_

Quinn, who always tried to be understanding with Santana, couldn't wrap her head around such a decision. It was weird because this possessive feeling found it's way to her heart and all she could think about was that Puckerman was a stupid boy with an ugly haircut and no future, and there was no way she was sharing Santana with him.

Her thoughts were alarming and new and Quinn had to look out at the pool to keep Santana from seeing her panic.

Santana knew, though, that something was different. They had been friends too long for her to  _not_  know. It made Quinn nervous because she wasn't even certain what was happening and she couldn't handle Santana seeing what Quinn wasn't even aware of until now.

Her heart ached in a way she didn't understand, in the way it used to ache when her parents would leave for long periods of time. In the way hearts ache when they're being left behind and forgotten.

Quinn is so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn't see Santana move, she doesn't even register that Santana is still present until Santana sits down next to her.

"Hey," Santana says softly, her shoulder bumping Quinn's. "This doesn't change anything."

'Liar', Quinn wants to say, because everything has already changed, Santana just can't see what Quinn is finally catching a glimpse of. So instead she says nothing.

Santana grabs Quinn's left hand and intertwined their fingers. "You'll still be my number one, okay?"

Quinn knows that Santana is trying to comfort her but Santana's statement makes her feel uneasy instead. The fact that Santana has to even say these things in the first place, that she says them to Quinn as seriously as a boy would say to a girl, proves that something has been different between them all along and Quinn is only now noticing it.

She wants to hold in her disappointment and be happy for Santana, but she's a selfish sixteen year old girl. She wants what she wants, and that's just how things go sometimes.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Quinn says, as she disentangles their hands.

Santana, to her credit, only looks hurt for a moment. She stands up quickly and pulls the shades off her face before throwing them down onto the pool chair. Quinn crosses her arms because she knows when a battle is coming and she's not willing to give up so easily.

Santana doesn't say anything. She just kneels down in front of Quinn and wraps her arms around Quinn's waist before placing a soft kiss right above Quinn's belly button.

Quinn can't help it when her hands cautiously separate and lower themselves down to Santana's hair. She can't help it when her hands pull Santana's hair out of its bun and start combing through her hair so softly that it makes Santana sigh. She can't help any of these things, just like she can't help the sudden onset of emotions based on the fact that this whole situation is  _different_.

It starts coming to her in spades, then. Things like the fact that they still share Santana's twin bed every night even though they're both too grown to fit into it comfortably. Or like the fact that Santana leaves her voice mails every few weeks, sometimes with songs other times with her love and encouragement. Or like the fact that they have showered together, just not in that way, but  _still_.

It hits her then how whenever Quinn thinks about the future, it always revolves around Santana and her and what they'll be doing  _together_. It feels like this was inevitable and it bugs her because she doesn't know how she didn't see this before.

Santana stirs briefly below her before placing another gentle kiss on Quinn's now flat stomach, and all Quinn wants to do is cry for all the things she has, all the things she won't, and all the things Santana has taken from her (along with the things Quinn's freely given).

It goes to show that Santana always has to be the best at everything because while Quinn was learning what made Santana tick, Santana was busy stealing her heart.

* * *

Quinn goes to visit her grandma that weekend-two weeks before school starts.

Sheryl (the front desk receptionist) smiles warmly when Quinn crosses through the automatic double doors. It's been years since grandma Lucy had been admitted to this home, and years since Quinn had started coming alone, and even though lots of things have changed in that time, Sheryl hasn't.

Sometimes Quinn wonders if it's because Sheryl loves her job or if it's because she can't afford to leave or even if it's because she's comfortable. Whatever Sheryl's reasoning is, Quinn finds it pointless, because she likes having a familiar face in a place that feels so unknown.

Sheryl doesn't make her check in, not anymore, she just waves her through with a smile and a wink, like she knows both things are what Quinn really needs right now.

* * *

Quinn's grandma is on the sixth floor, along with all the other patients who suffer from mental illnesses. It's a floor that has more nurses and more security. She smiles at the security officer guarding the door and walks the familiar route to her grandma's room.

She isn't really sure why she comes here anymore, especially when her mother, father, and Frannie stopped, but she's here anyway. She thinks it has to do with the fact that she's not ready to let go and Santana thinks it's because Quinn just wants to understand  _why_  it was her grandma of all people who had to forget.

Maybe it's both those things.

Quinn stops outside of her grandmother's room and runs her fingers over her dress. Her grandma's door is open, like always, and Quinn likes to think it is because she is always inviting others in.

Quinn inhales a huge breath of air and squares her shoulders. She takes a few steps in, knocks on the door, and walks the rest of the way until she's standing in front of her grandma's bed.

Her grandma is lying in bed, her eyes focused on the view outside the window. Her grandma is a tiny woman, with curious hazel eyes and white hair (that used to be the brightest blonde). She has more wrinkles and liver spots than this building has patients, but they only make her look more kind. If there was ever a woman suited for aging, it is her grandma.

Quinn glances in the direction her grandma was looking. The sun is shining and the birds are singing, but there is hardly anything else worth watching out there. Although, Quinn was pretty sure that wasn't the point.

_(Isn't that why the caged bird sings?)_

Quinn clears her throat to draw her grandma's attention. It works because her grandma peers at Quinn, her eyes shining in acknowledgement, and for a second Quinn almost thinks that today will be  _easy_.

"Judy?" Her grandma asks, her hands clasped together on her lap.

Quinn shakes her head softly, disappointment making her shoulders drop. "No, grandma Lucy. It's Quinn."

Her grandma makes a pained expression and looks towards the door like she was expecting someone else to come in. "Quinn." Her grandmother says, her face frowning when she said her name, as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. "What a strange name." Her grandma stared at her for a minute as if she was settling on something involving Quinn. "I like that."

Quinn shrugs, worry starting to creep into the corners of her mind. "Thank you."

Her grandma nods, a grin on her face. She frowned after a minute. "You sure do look a lot like my Judy. How do you know her again?"

Quinn's face fell. Honestly, she had no idea why she kept coming to these visits and who the visits were truly for. Herself or her grandmother. "I don't."

Her grandmother sighed and looked back outside the window, clearly tired. Quinn was too, it was draining, this dance they always did. In the end, Quinn always caved, because it was nicer to be somebody that her grandmother knew then it was to be nobody at all.

"Judy?" Her grandma called out after a few minutes. Her eyes were confused and her lower lip was quivering.

Quinn smiles softly and takes the seat right next to her grandma's bed. She grasps her grandmother's hand and does her best to sound gentle. "Yes, it's me."

"I knew you would come back," her grandma says confidently. "I just knew it."

"Yeah," Quinn agrees. "You did."

"Judy, do you remember what I used to tell you about love?"

Quinn's heart swells in a way that reminds her of her childhood. It's nice that some things don't disappear along with the others.

"You said it was an awfully big adventure."

* * *

She leaves after a few hours with a promise to come back next weekend. Even though her grandma won't remember, it makes Quinn feel better to say the words out loud. Like they're more true and likely to happen if someone else hears them.

She's in the parking lot when her phone rings. She assumes it's Santana because more often than not, it  _is_. She pushes the talk button and puts the phone to her ear, her voice already excited and playful.

"What's up, sugar lump?"

"Wow," a nasally voice filters through. "You have never sounded so excited to speak to me."

Quinn doesn't need to look at the caller id to know who it is. Instead she rolls her eyes and unlocks the door to her car. "What do you want, Frannie?"

"Ouch," Frannie says, her voice light. "Can't a sister call for absolutely no reason at all except to see how her baby sis is doing?"

Quinn slid into the car, her hands twitching to end the call. "One: that is a reason. Two: you never do that."

Frannie sighs. "I wanted to congratulate you on getting co-captain."

"Really?"

"Really," Frannie reiterates. "I mean, it's no head captain, but at least it's something the scouts at Tennessee State will look at."

"Santana thinks I can get into NYU, maybe even Yale."

Frannie laughs obnoxiously loud. "So you're just going to follow that girl around for forever? You need to separate yourself, Quinn, this relationship isn't healthy and it won't last forever. Tennessee State is a great school and you would do well there, by  _yourself_."

"Who even says I want to go to Tennessee State? It's just like another version of crappy McKinley," Quinn spits out.

"Watch it," Frannie warns. "I went there."

"Which of course means I'll have to do it, too, even though we both know I'll never measure up to perfect Frannie."

"Quinn," Frannie says softly.

"No," Quinn interrupts. "We both know that's what dad wants and we both know that's what mom's thinking.  _You_  graduated at the top of your class,  _you_ were cheerios captain for three years and won three national championships,  _you_  got a full ride to Tennessee State and graduated with honors.  _You_ married your college sweetheart and live in an awesome country town where you'll have awesome country kids, and I'm just Quinn. But maybe I like being just Quinn, okay? And maybe I like thinking that one day I'm going to make farther than you ever did." By the time Quinn's done, her chest is heaving and her hand is gripping the steering wheel exceptionally tight. She closes her eyes and does her best to calm herself, Frannie is eight years older and Quinn has absolutely no right to speak to her this way. "Sorry," Quinn mutters, before adding as an afterthought, "I've just got done visiting grandma and she kept calling me Judy the whole time. I'm just..."

"Quinn," Frannie grunts in frustration. "I just want what's best for you, okay? These past few months..." Quinn freezes when she thinks she hears Frannie sob. "These past few months I've just been thinking about what a horrible sister I've been to you, especially with mom and dad, especially when you needed me. I want to change things between us, Quinn, because we really only have each other."

"Frannie?" Quinn calls out, worry lacing her voice. "What's going on?"

"John and I are getting a divorce."

* * *

The day of Quinn's sixteenth birthday is an uneventful one. Frannie didn't come home, mostly because she wasn't allowed. Their father...he was tiffed beyond measure at the news of Frannie's divorce. He called Frannie selfish and horrible and all the names a father should never call his daughter, all because Frannie had decided she didn't want to be married anymore.

It turns out that Frannie didn't enjoy being married or living in Tennessee. It turns out that Frannie met this italian guy named Marco and she wanted to go see Europe with him, and she wanted to teach English to students in other countries. Frannie didn't want to be a wife or a mother or any of the things that Judy was.

It was nice in a way because her parents image of perfection had finally been torn down. But it also sucked, because even though perfect Frannie was doing something imperfect, she was still doing it before Quinn and she was doing it perfectly. She was going to  _Europe_  to teach English to students. She was  _living_  in a way that far outweighed anything Quinn could ever do. Frannie outshine her again, even when she was messing up.

Overall, her birthday was a depressing affair. It was two days before school started so Santana was busy shopping with her parents and Quinn's parents were busy yelling and getting drunk-which, really, isn't different from any other day.

So instead of wallowing in the despair that is her life, Quinn swipes her dad's emergency credit card and buys a whole bunch of only books for her kindle. She orders some songs, some stockings, and even a fake Harry Potter Hogwarts award letter. It could be worse, so she settles down around midnight and uploads the new Game of Thrones book, hoping to end her night a better way than it started, when she hears something hit her window.

It's pointless because Quinn knows her parents are already passed out, so there's really no reason to be so sneaky. Still, Quinn's curious so she heads to the window and opens it. She almost laughs in surprise when she sees Santana standing on her lawn, a rose in her left hand and a boombox in the other.

"Are you going to stand there all night looking pretty, Fabray? Or am I going to have to bust a move here and get this thing going?" Santana asks, her hand lifting the boombox.

Quinn shakes her head and closes the window before bolting out of her room and running down the stairs. She opens the door quickly and wastes no time with enveloping Santana in a hug. "I thought you were with Puck tonight?" Quinn whispers into Santana's neck.

"I told you," Santana says as her arms circle around Quinn's waist. "You'll always be my number one."

* * *

They kiss a few months later because Quinn is sixteen and a half and because Santana is looking out for her.

At least, that's what Santana says after her lips touch Quinn's.

The day leading up to it starts off weird enough because Finn Hudson goes through this huge ordeal to ask Quinn out and Quinn decides to say yes. She's tired of looking down the hall and watching Puck shove his tongue down Santana's throat with little class or care. At least this way she would actually get to be around Santana more, and she wouldn't feel like the third wheel.

Santana isn't pleased when she finds out and it only serves to make Quinn more confused. The past year has been a whirlwind of things and Quinn hasn't had time to focus on whatever changed between Santana and her during the summer, or to see if Santana felt it too. Santana says it's because she doesn't want Quinn's first kiss to be with Finn 'man boobs' Hudson, she says it's because she wants Quinn to have an actual experience that she'll enjoy remembering years later.

It happens just as quickly as any other moment that has the tendency to change ones life: unexpectedly quick, until further thought and recognition.

Quinn doesn't really think anything of it. She's more caught off guard than she is worried about it because she trusts Santana with her life and Santana wouldn't do something unless it was necessary. She doesn't have many friends so she Isn't certain if this the norm, but she is certain that when Santana's lips brush hesitantly against hers  _again_ , everything else just sort of fades away.

It's cliche, but when Santana's lips touch hers the second time, Quinn forgets about empty dinner tables and about fathers who are never pleased. She forgets about countless wine bottles and grandmothers who keep calling her Judy.

She just forgets and it's nice and she thinks that sometimes it's just easier to forget than it is to remember.

* * *

It isn't until hours later when her lips are tingling that Quinn decides she's lucky to have Santana in her life, even if she's Quinn's only real friend.

Her mother had tons and tons of half friends. The type of friends who filled her time between boredom and plans, youth and adulthood, this and that. Friends that don't have longevity or compassion but they have  _time_. And now that Quinn thinks about it, her mom really only ended up alone.

So Quinn takes solace in the fact that she has one good-nay, one great- friend. Santana feels like her one redemption in this shithole of a town and even though she makes Quinn confused, even though Quinn doesn't really understand what's happening, she feels insanely lucky to have her.

* * *

They kiss frequently over the next few months, and with more intent. Santana keeps saying that she's just trying to prepare Quinn, that she just wants Quinn to be safe and okay, and that Santana is still with Puck and that these kisses don't mean anything. Santana says that it's practice or how to make a guy feel good.

But then Santana pushes Quinn against the bathroom stall and kisses her breath away, until there's no more air in Quinn's lungs and the only thing she can breathe and feel and see is Santana.

It doesn't feel like practice, Quinn thinks, it only feels like love.

* * *

"I don't get it," Quinn says one day, "why can't you just break up with Puck. I mean, you don't even like him."

They're in Santana's room cooling off after a rough Cheerio's practice when Quinn brings it up. She's tired of making out behind closed doors while Puck gets to kiss Santana whenever he wants. She's treading dangerous territory, she knows that, but it's getting harder and harder to not claim what she feels like is hers.

Santana stared at Quinn seriously before rolling her eyes. "He's good in bed."

"Oh," Quinn says, as if that answers everything. "Okay."

* * *

"Santana?" Quinn asks after a particularly heavy make-out session. Quinn's in her bra and cheerio skirt and Santana's still fully dressed, her hair is in a sloppy ponytail though and she looks happy.

It's times like these where Quinn thinks she could do this forever, be  _here_  forever.

She watched as her mother took less than what she deserved and resigned herself to a life that clearly made her unhappy, just because she was terrified of being alone. Quinn didn't really get it until now, because even if she has to keep whatever this is a secret, even if she doesn't know what's happening between them and even if Santana never tells her, she could spend the rest of her life here...as long as Santana looked that way forever.

"Yeah?" Santana asks, her voice husky in a way that makes Quinn's stomach clench.

Quinn wants to say  _it_. She wants to say what's been on the tip of her tongue since the day last summer, even before she knew what it was. She wants to say it but she can't bring herself to spill the words.

Quinn learned life lessons in the silence after alcohol. Regardless of her fathers selfish ways and her mother's alcoholic tendencies, Quinn often pardoned them, because they were kids once too. She likes to believe that they weren't always like they were now.

She wants Santana to pardon her, too, for saying what it is she wants to say. But she doesn't think Santana will, so instead Quinn smiles mischievously and removes her bra top because at least that's a language that Santana will understand.

"Come here and kiss me."

Quinn isn't anything other than thrilled when Santana obliges.

* * *

 _It_  happens a few weeks later because Santana is nestled between her legs and they both don't have tops on and Quinn just can't take it anymore. She doesn't care if it's practice or fucking, as long as Santana's touching her where it counts.

"Touch me," Quinn demands when Santana's teeth nip against her neck. " _Now._ "

Santana lifts her head up so that she can see Quinn's face. Santana's cheeks are red and her skin is literally glowing and Quinn just wants all of her, everywhere.

Santana licks her lips and kisses Quinn's forehead. "You're so beautiful."

"Okay," Quinn says, not really caring.

"No," Santana disagrees. She frowns and looks away, like she can't say it if she knows Quinn is looking at her. "Listen. You're...perfect. To me. You always have been."

Quinn's heart doesn't melt, it seizes and completely stops, only for it to start pumping in a completely different way.

When Santana touches her, her skin doesn't burn or tingle or do any of those things that girls always talk about. Instead, when Santana's fingers touch Quinn, she feels  _alive_. And when Santana's finger pushes inside of Quinn, it's hard for Quinn not to clench down to keep it there forever-to keep her dreams and desires, to keep Santana forever.

Santana continues to touch Quinn because she says it's better this way, Quinn let's Santana touch her because she's curious. But mostly because she can't imagine  _not_  giving all of herself to Santana.

Santana's always been a storm to be reckoned with and Quinn has always been perfectly fine with getting swept up in her.

Santana pushed another finger inside of Quinn and this time she does clench, because it hurts at the same time that it feels good, and she doesn't really know what to do anymore. This is crossing lines and crossing barriers and Quinn just doesn't know, she just doesn't know anymore.

Santana exhales shakily. "You okay?"

Quinn nods. She's uncomfortable, but she's okay.

Santana licks her lips. "I'm gonna move your leg over my shoulder, okay? It'll feel better."

Quinn nods again as Santana lifts her right leg to give her fingers better access. It's awkward and probably not as sexy as it could be, but it's okay. Santana leans down and kisses Quinn again as she slowly pulls out her fingers and thrusts them back in, Santana's body moving with her fingers.

Quinn wraps her arms around Santana's shoulders because she doesn't know where else to put them and she doesn't want to look ridiculous, especially if Santana recalls this memory later.

All coherent thoughts go out the window when Santana thrusts again. It feels  _good_  and soon Santana is setting a pace that's kinda awkward and kinda sloppy, but that feels way too good to ever stop.

Quinn is making weird noises she never thought she would make. Something between a grunt and a sigh, and she can't physically stop herself when her fingernails dig into Santana's shoulder as she chants, "don't stop, please don't stop."

Santana shook her head and closed her eyes, "never," she whispered. " _Never_."

It's intimate in the only way they haven't been but that's okay because Quinn feels perfect and Santana looks perfect and her fingers are perfect and when she thrusts in particularly hard, Quinn comes apart, and even that's  _perfect_.

She doesn't mean to say it or to grab Santana's hand to hold her in place when she tries to pull her fingers out. It's just that Quinn's thoughts are a mess and she keeps thinking about how Frannie was always perfect y herself and Quinn's only ever been perfect with Santana, because she was perfect for Santana, and maybe it makes sense. Maybe it doesn't. All she knows is that she holds Santana in place and whispers, "I love you."

Santana doesn't say anything back. To her benefit, the 'i love you' could have gone either way: as a friend or as a lover. Instead Santana kiss Quinn's neck and pulls her fingers out, her lips trailing down her collarbone to the valley in between her breasts, to her navel, to her pelvic bone, and finally to the place Santana's fingers were just at. It doesn't take Quinn very long to come undone a second time, or a third.

When it's all over and done with and Santana has sated whatever desire she had been overcome with earlier, Santana grabs Quinn and holds her close. Santana's mouth behind Quinn's ear and her legs intertwined with Quinn's.

"I just..." Santana trails off while Quinn is drifting in and out of consciousness, her arm tightening possessively around Quinn's waist. "I just don't want anyone to ever hurt you."

It's clear to Quinn that Santana can't see how she already has.

* * *

The summer before their Senior year, this girl Brittany changes everything.

Quinn isn't even sure how Santana met the blonde before she transferred to McKinley, but she overhears something about a rival glee club. It doesn't make sense though because Santana would tell her about that. They didn't have secrets.

Well, not until Brittany.

It hits her out of nowhere, and hard. She doesn't know much about Brittany, all she knows is that one week Santana is there with her and the next week Santana's dumping Puck and traipsing through the hallways, her pinky linked with Brittany's.

Santana doesn't even warn her, she just looks at Quinn and shrugs, as if it was to be expected. As if they hadn't spent the past three months fucking in every god known place. As if Quinn hadn't just told Santana that she was in love with her, that she wanted Santana, that she  _needed_  Santana.

Never mind the fact that she hates Brittany, because she honestly does. Brittany with her quick movements and stupid questions and pretty smile. She doesn't see what drew Santana to such a dumb, useless girl. Brittany tries to be nice to Quinn, tries to invite Quinn out with them, but Quinn can't handle it. She can't watch Santana with Brittany, she can't be around it. So she distances herself.

It hurts, but not because Santana had been deceiving her. It hurts in other ways, worse ways, because Santana's willing to be so open and so free with Brittany in all the ways that she demand Quinn be secretive with her.

They've been each other's number ones for as long as Quinn can remember, so it's really hard to accept the fact that she's now Santana's number two. It doesn't matter what happened or what she did in the following months after Brittany's transfer, because no matter what Quinn did and no matter how hard she tried, she wasn't Santana's first choice anymore.

She's spent so much time planning her future around them being a duo that her mind can't even begin to comprehend that they're more of trio now.

Best friends are tricky things because Quinn went all in with the assumption that their friendship would last forever due to loyalty, love, common denominators, etc. Only for their friendship to be torn apart by something as simple as  _someone else_. Someone who isn't Quinn. And maybe that's why it gets to her, maybe that's why it hurts, maybe that's why she cares, because _none_ of it is Quinn.

Quinn wants to scream at Santana, she wants to yell that Santana had made a promise, but she was too tired. Instead she sat back and waited, hoping that someday soon Santana would find her way back to her.

* * *

The last few months of her Senior year held a few life changing moments for Quinn:

The first being that she got into Yale.

The second being that she met and befriended the wonderful Rachel Berry (who years later, would turn out to be her Godsend).

The third being that Frannie came home.

The fourth and final thing (what led to everything else) was her grandmother's funeral

* * *

Her grandmother passes away three weeks before graduation, and even though Santana is barely around anymore, Quinn still expects her to be there for her.

Santana isn't. Not even on the day of grandma Lucy's funeral.

She sends Quinn a text saying, " _I already promised Britt we'd go to the lake. Sorry."_

It's the last straw in a friendship that has been breaking for months. Quinn needed Santana to be there and Santana just wasn't and Quinn doesn't know how to do any of this without her, but now she's going to have to try.

She doesn't know what do or even what to say to her mother. She's never had to console somebody twice her age. She doesn't know why but that makes it worse, somehow. Like, all the things she could or will say will never be enough for someone who has lived-and seen-more than Quinn's mind could comprehend.

She tries, of course, but her words fall on deaf ears. Her mother just continues to stare blankly ahead and all Quinn can think during the funeral is that it's much better to grieve in private.

So she will. For Santana and for her grandmother.

* * *

Her grandmother used to say that falling in love was the bravest thing you could ever do. Quinn doesn't know if she understands what her grandma meant, because she's been best friends with Santana Lopez for as long as she can remember. And Quinn Fabray has been in love with Santana Lopez for almost as long, she just didn't know it.

 _"_ Sometimes _you meet them, sometimes you keep them, and sometimes you let them go."_


	2. Part Two (The Worst Things In Life Come Free To Us)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow! The feedback has been really great so far, I know you probably hate hearing it but I would love to have MORE feedback and MORE reviews! Just to know what you like and don't like. I pretty much have this story wrapped up, mostly because it's just been plaguing me to be written. Um, oh! There is some a lot of subtle Faberry in here, pretty much the half of this story is just Rachel and Quinn. I know a lot of you don't like it but relationships (including friendships) between girls are hard and weird, and sometimes they cross the territory of relationship without meaning to. I really wanted to establish how weird any type of relationship is to Quinn. Anyway, I also intended for Quinn to sound more present in this chapter, so I hope it's noticeable. ONWARD!
> 
> A/N 2: This thing is a MONSTER. I hope you guys can handle it, let me know if it drags, okay? The next chapter will be mostly Quinntana, trust me, I hope all of you aren't too upset with this.

_**3 years later** _

 

**(THIS IS HOW IT WORKS.)**

Quinn Fabray is  _rushing._

That's the only coherent thought that tumbles through Quinn's head as she pushes through another crowd of people to get closer to her destination. New York has never been an easy city-part of the reason she chose to come here was the fact that it would never be easy, because Quinn couldn't respect things that were  _easy_ -that's for sure, but it's never felt this difficult.

It's  _cold_. Colder than Quinn is accustomed to and it makes her bones ache in a way they never used to, at least not before the car accident years ago. She's fine now, better even, but every so often she has to rely on this cane that makes her look twice her age. Quinn doesn't really enjoy relying on anything and she often finds herself staring at her cane like she's waiting for the day it decides to betray her.

Anyway, she's pushing her way through Sixth and Bowery (past all the damn hipsters) and towards her favorite little cafe when she hears a voice she hasn't heard in  _years_.

"Quinn?" Someone calls from a few feet behind her. The voice is warm and curious, but it runs Quinn's blood  _cold_.

She freezes her movements and tightens the grip on her cane. Pedestrians continue to bump into Quinn and her balance isn't what it used to be, so she leans down on the cane for a little more than just physical support.

"Quinn Fabray?" The voice calls again, this time closer, and it sounds as if the person doesn't believe their own eyes.

She turns around even though she doesn't really want to, because she made a pact years ago (after the accident) that she'd start facing things head on. Especially the hard things. Quinn does her best to make her grimace look like a smile while she turns. She knows there's no use since Rachel has always been an expert at spotting the things that Quinn wants to hide, but she tries anyway.

It's clear when her eyes find Rachel's that she fails, impeccably.

Rachel Berry is standing a few feet away from Quinn and it's odd, but not because Quinn never expected to see her. It's different and a little bit the same, is what it is, it's nostalgia and memory blending effortlessly together. It's strange because Quinn's looking at a girl she used to know everything about and she's realizing she knows nothing about who she is now, not anymore. Time and distance offer changes that Quinn just didn't want to get used to, changes that are hard not to acknowledge when they're standing right before her.

Quinn takes a step forward (mostly because she can't  _not_  move, especially when her past is practically staring her in the face) so that she's actually in Rachel's line of sight.

When Rachel's eyes finally squint in recognition everything around Quinn seems to stop. Rachel looks exactly like the girl she was three plus years ago. Her hair is longer and her wardrobe is clearly better, but overall? Rachel is the same girl. She still stands impeccably straight and her eyes are still the warm things they used to be. She still has an air about her, like she's going to make it somewhere and somehow, and it doesn't matter if anyone else believes it.

Quinn believed-believes, Quinn believes it.

Quinn decides to break the brief purgatory they found themselves in and shoots Rachel a small smile. It breaks whatever is holding Rachel back and Rachel smiles without hesitation, her grin so wide that it reaches her ears, and her teeth so bare that Quinn can't help but feel anything other than welcome. Rachel scans her eyes over Quinn, like she's looking at an old toy (fondly, and with a sense of trepidation) before her eyes land on Quinn's cane.

Rachel's smile fades and Quinn decides that today is the day her cane lets her down, and what a day for her cane to decide to betray her. Instead of letting her slip, her cane was letting her  _fall_.

Quinn waves flimsily. "It's not as bad as it looks," she says, hoping to break Rachel's concentration. "The fall is a killer, ya know?"

Rachel continues to gaze at her while Quinn shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. This isn't the day for mistakes, Quinn thinks, but it isn't the day for pleasantries, either. It's been a long time since Quinn has spoken to anyone from Lima and an even longer time since she's seen anyone from her home town and she isn't much in the mood to break that record.

Quinn jerks her head to the side, her empty hand pointing behind her. "I should get going. I have class."

Quinn turns around before Rachel can get a word in and starts shoving her way through the people, eager to get as far away from this moment as she could.

Rachel seems to have other plans though because she grabs Quinn's arm (the good one, the free one) in a death grip and tugs her backwards. She isn't a fan of moving back, not now, but Rachel's hand is holding on like Quinn is a lifeboat in this strange sea and it reminds Quinn of years ago when Rachel was her lifeboat. It's dangerous, all of it is. Touching is a dangerous sport, in the same way that trusting is a dangerous choice. It leads to things that are better left unsaid-things that are better left as afterthoughts.

Remembering is dangerous because Quinn isn't that girl anymore and she doesn't think that she can be that girl again, not now.

Still, the affectionate part of Quinn can't tear herself away, so Quinn complies as Rachel pulls her to a corner that's facing away from the crowd. Rachel glances over her shoulder to make sure there's nobody specific heading their way before she turns her focus back to Quinn. Rachel licks her lips and takes a step forward, her hand still grasping Quinn's arm tightly, and it's almost too much too fast. Quinn wants to run when the reality of the situation settles, just like anyone who's seen a ghost does, but she can't and she won't.

Rachel swallows, her head shaking like she doesn't know where to start. Finally she seems to settle on something because her posture straightens and her grip loosens.

"You can't leave without saying goodbye."

Rachel states it as if it's a matter of fact, and perhaps it is, but Quinn knows it's more than that. It's  _Rachel's_ statement and there's a ' _not again'_  mixed in between it all.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says and she hopes that Rachel knows that she means it.

Rachel looks away and Quinn thinks that this moment must appear strange to outsiders and passerby's. It probably looks oddly heavy and strangely confining to people who don't see their history, who can't remember all those years ago when Quinn Fabray left Lima behind (and everyone else with it).

"How long?" Rachel asks, her voice urgent.

Quinn has no idea what Rachel's referring to so she gives the easiest answer. "I've been in New York for two years, I transferred to NYU before my sophomore year at Yale." Quinn nervously taps her plain wooden cane on the ground and looks up towards the grey sky. "Yale didn't suit me very well."

When Quinn glances back down, Rachel's eyes are downcast, and it doesn't take much for Quinn to conclude that it's because she's crying (or about to cry). It brings back an old persona and old mannerisms faster than anything else ever could and before Quinn can stop herself, she's pulling her good arm from Rachel's grip and placing it on Rachel's shoulder.

"Shit, Rach, don't-don't cry."

Rachel lifts her head at Quinn's use of her old nickname and the look in her eyes is pure bitterness. Rachel pushes Quinn's arm off her shoulder and glares. " _Don't._ You don't get to do that, Quinn. It's been three years since we've seen each other! Three years since you..." Rachel trails off as her eyes linger on Quinn's cane. Rachel clears her throat and blinks away the tears in her eyes before continuing. "You almost  _died_  and then you just  _left_. Without a word to anyone. I thought...you were my best friend, Quinn!"

Quinn opens and closes her mouth pointlessly, the words refusing to come out even though they keep playing in her head. It makes sense that Rachel Berry would skip past pleasantries and call her out while standing in the bitter ass cold. Rachel has never pretended to be something that she wasn't and it impresses Quinn that even now, Rachel wouldn't try to do so. Quinn takes a step back (since that seems to be the theme of the day) and feels her back press against cold marble, it's chilling, but only for a second, and Quinn takes that as a sign to move on.

"I had to leave, Rachel. I know it doesn't makes sense now and I'm  _sorry_ , I  _am_." Quinn emphasized when she noticed that Rachel doesn't look convinced. Quinn licks her lips and decides to just do  _it_  since there was no escaping her past, not anymore. "I couldn't stay there anymore, Rach, not after the accident."

"You just left," Rachel says with a sigh. "Who just leaves without so much as a goodbye?"

Quinn looks away, her mind screaming at her that now is not the time for honesty. Perhaps it isn't, but it also isn't the time for lies. "It's easier than you think," Quinn jokes. She looks back at Rachel and winces when she notices the line forming in Rachel's forehead. "And harder than you would believe." Quinn admits, her throat going dry with the statement.

Rachel stares at Quinn, her eyes glassy. She takes a step forward before seeming to think better of it. "Okay."

Quinn puffs out her chest defensively. "Rachel, I know it doesn't make sense to you but you have to try and unde-wait, what?"

Rachel shrugs. "I said okay."

"So,  _wait,_ " Quinn says, her free hand gesturing in between herself and Rachel. "You're just going to let me off the hook that easy?"

"Well, not exactly," Rachel says, a tiny glint in her eyes. There's no traces of the Rachel that was just yelling at her a few moments ago, there's no tears and no sadness, and Quinn can't help but further believe that Rachel will make a great actress someday. Rachel grins and reaches for Quinn's good hand. "It's okay, for now, but on one condition."

"What?"

"You give me your number," Rachel replies easily, her hand already tugging Quinn in the opposite direction of her class. " _And_  you owe me a coffee date. Right now, actually."

"Wait," Quinn protests, her eyebrows furrowing in disagreement. "I have class."

Rachel shoots Quinn a look that somehow embodies  _not now_  and  _you owe me this_  and it shuts Quinn down immediately because she  _does_  owe Rachel this and now  _isn't_ the time to protest.

"Okay," Quinn caves, her fingers slipping easily in between Rachel's. "But I draw the line at Starbuck's."

* * *

It turns out that three years is a really long time.

It's all Quinn can think after Rachel gets up to grab another tea. They're at this little cafe bakery off of fourth that Rachel chose. Quinn doesn't know if Rachel picked this place at random or if she frequents it on her cold mornings or tough days. Either way, she can't stop herself from picturing it and it's strange that she never had these curious q's before and now that Rachel's in her sight and in her mind, so is everything else that could possibly come with it.

Rachel grabbed her second tea and maneuvered her way back to their corner table, both of her hands holding on tightly to her cup. Quinn just continues to stare because Rachel is still so  _Rachel_. Is it possible for things to change while still staying the same? Rachel looks like her Rachel and it's impossible not to remember the girl from three years ago who befriended her when she was all alone.

"Fuck," Rachel curses as she sits down, her tea spilling over the rim and landing on Rachel's hands. Rachel puts her cup down and grabs a napkin, quickly wiping the mess away. It throws Quinn off balance to hear Rachel curse because that is certainly new and certainly not something Rachel (gold star) Berry would have said back in high school.

It's another reminder that three years is a  _really_ long time.

"Sorry," Rachel apologizes, suddenly aware of Quinn's quiet staring.

Quinn shakes her head slowly. "Don't be, I'm just admiring the fact that the Rachel Berry curses now."

She means it as a joke but it's clear that it doesn't come across that way. Quinn doesn't understand it, maybe it's the years that sit in between them or the fact that Quinn left Rachel behind. Maybe it's the memories they missed out on or the fact that Rachel is overwhelmed by everything that's hitting her in this moment. Either way, Rachel is  _angry_  and it shows in a very non-Rachel way.

"It's no different than the fact that you now have a cane. Things change."

It's a low blow and it makes Quinn withdraw quickly, her hands fumbling into her lap. Rachel notices the shift in Quinn's demeanor and lowers her head in shame.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," Rachel says. "I didn't mean that...it's just, so many things are different now."

"I know." Quinn agrees.

"I-" Rachel tries, she inhales a lungful of air and places her hands flat on the table beside her tea. "I really missed you, you know? And it's hard because I had to accept that I would just always miss you since we haven't been in contact in  _years_. But here you are, in the flesh! And it's just-" Rachel lifts her right hand and puts it to her temple. "It's  _scary_."

Quinn looks away, her gaze settling on this old couple that's seated a few feet away from them. They look happy. They look happy to be  _together_  and it isn't hard to notice how Quinn hasn't been  _together_  with anything or anyone since Lima. She has acquaintances, sure. And classmates and the various roommates through the years, but she doesn't have  _friends_. The type of friends who promise you forever while you're sneaking into a swimming pool after curfew or the type of friend who lends you money without having to ask twice. She doesn't have the friends who wait up for her at night or the friends that text her to see how she's doing.

She gets it, believe her, she gets it. Quinn understands that she did this to herself. She was so tired of being the girl who was picked second that she chose to be the girl who wasn't picked at all and it made things easy, at least for awhile. It's easy to get caught up in just living. She spent so long focusing on the day-to-day moments of life that literally years had passed her by (along with memories of teenage love, and even worse, teenage angst).

There was a point years ago when Quinn had genuinely missed Rachel and Lima. There were weeks on end at the beginning where Quinn would just ache for Santana...but time is the greatest coping method. Not because it makes it easier to deal with things but because it makes it easier to forget. It;s easier to forget who Quinn was back them (who she used to be) when every day there's more and more distance separating her from that girl.

But it's all coming back now. The memories, the  _moments_ , and Quinn thinks that maybe she doesn't want to forget anymore.

Quinn wants to try. She wants to have friends again. She wants to fix whatever is broken between her and Rachel because even though she chose to leave Rachel behind, Rachel is still here sitting in front of her, years later. It has to mean something. In a city filled with millions of people, what are the chances that years later she'd run into an old memory? She's not a big believer in fate (not anymore) but she's not a big believer in plain old coincidence either, and Quinn thinks that it'll be nice, to believe in something again.

"Let's try again," Quinn says abruptly, causing Rachel's body to jerk and her eyes to meet Quinn's in confusion. "Let's try this again."

"What are you talking about?"

Quinn shrugs, not really certain herself, and places her hands over Rachel's. "I want to try being friends again, okay? Because, well, because I've been an idiot and NY gets lonely in the fall and we're both sitting here years later when I was absolutely certain that we wouldn't be. We're both different here, but kind of still the same, and I just think that we should try. Can we try, Rachel?"

Rachel licks her lips as she processes Quinn's question. It wasn't the most eloquent of speeches, of that Quinn was sure, but she could hardly make sense of the situation, let alone her words! Rachel's eyes twinkle in the way that they used to and her hands move underneath Quinn's.

"Yes," Rachel says, clearly pleased. "Yes, I would most certainly like that."

* * *

Quinn doesn't regret that day in the coffee shop, not even eight weeks later when Rachel's ringtone is blasting right next to her ear and Quinn is pulling away so quickly that she can't stop herself from falling out of bed.

She lands on the floor with the most ungraceful  _thump_  and groans when her barely covered behind makes contact with her freezing floor.

Still, Quinn reaches for the phone, her body as eager as her mind to speak to Rachel. After their coffee date, they had parted with promises of keeping in touch and this time both of them had done their darndest to keep said promises.

It's nice, Quinn thinks, to actually feel like she has a friend again.

Mostly they've just met for coffee and had takeout at Quinn's apartment a few times, but it's still nice. They're past the awkward stage where every sentence has the ability to cross a boundary that didn't exist years ago. Things are good and Quinn is really happy.

"Hello?" Quinn answers in a rush.

"Quinn!" Rachel yells. She's so loud that Quinn has to pull her phone away from her ear for a moment. "Quinn! Are you there?!"

Quinn laughs. "Yes, Rachel! I'm here."

"Oh," Rachel says quietly. "Whatcha doing?"

Quinn lifted her eyes up and glanced at her clock. She almost huffed in irritation when she saw that it was nearing six am. Of course Rachel would call her to "chat" in the dead of fucking night.

"Rachel," Quinn begins carefully. "Are you drunk?"

"Psssh," Rachel overexaggerates. "Of course not. Can't a girl call her old and new-well, recently acquainted onetime best friend? I am aghast that you'd suggest that I would be anything other tha-oh! Vegan friendly cupcakes!"

Quinn has to strain her ears just to make sure Rachel is still on the line. All she can hear though is Rachel 'oohing' and 'aahing' followed by what she can only assume is the sound of Rachel stuffing her face

"What were we talking about again?" Rachel asks when she's finally had enough cupcakes. "Was it tigers? I have a feeling we'd be talking about tigers."

"Rachel," Quinn says in between her laughter. "It's late, aren't you worried about school?"

Rachel's in her Senior year at NYADA, and even though she's a shoe-in to graduate at the top of her class, Rachel isn't the type to slack off.

"My roommates thought I needed to loosen up, so I did!"

Quinn laughs again. "Ah, the mysterious roommates," she says. It's been eight weeks and all Quinn has heard about Rachel's roommates is that they exist. Rachel never goes into detail and Quinn still has yet to meet them. At first she was suspicious but then she spoke to Frannie about it and Frannie had said that Rachel was probably still wary because of Quinn's actions years ago. It made sense that Rachel didn't trust her completely, especially since it hasn't been more than two months since they've re-connected. So she's decided to just wait it out. "How are these mysterious roommates?"

"Mysterious," Rachel answers, her tone playful. "Quinn, I love you."

It may be five in the morning and Quinn just might be lying on her hardwood floor in nothing but boy shorts, and she still might be half asleep, but there's still no way she imagined that. She loved someone once before, years ago, and that turned out horribly and Quinn doesn't want to go through that again.

But then Rachel sighs (like best friends always do) and she breathes softly, and before Quinn can say anything, Rachel continues.

"I love you because we were best friends once and apple martinis make me really affectionate," Rachel says matter-of-factly. "I love you because even though you're such an idiot...you're kind of the best friend I've always imagined I'd have, and even though your musical taste could use some work...well, I'm happy to have you back. So, yeah, I love you."

"Oh," Rachel says. "My roommate says there's a rerun of Funny Lady on. I'll talk to you later Quinn!"

Rachel hangs up as quickly as she did everything else: without a moments hesitation, leaving Quinn sitting in her bedroom with a dial tone. Quinn doesn't know what to say, she's pretty sure she's speechless. So instead of saying anything she just stays still and watches the sun rise.

She's pretty sure the sun looks differently now and Quinn can't quite put her finger on  _how_.

* * *

"I look ridiculous," Quinn spits out as her eyes rake over her reflection in her full length mirror. She looks like an abomination, is all Quinn can really think. It was Rachel's idea to go to this stupid costume party that Quinn's neighbor was throwing and for some reason Rachel took that as a sign to coordinate their outfits as well as choose what they were going to be. Unfortunately for Quinn, that meant Rachel shoving her in an outfit that should have been sent back to the eighties the moment it arrived. There were bows  _everywhere_  on this black dress and lots of lace and frills. Not to mention the fact that she had shoulder pads and what could only be described of as a pocket to hold her gloves.

"I think you look dashing," Rachel comments. "Like a young Princess Diana."

Quinn scoffs, her arms crossing across her chest in reflex. "Princess Diana would  _never_ be caught in something with…"

"In something with what?"

"In something with so many  _frills,_ " Quinn hisses, her eyes narrow and her posture tight.

Rachel raises an eyebrow as if Quinn's statement alone is a challenge. "What's wrong with frills?"

Quinn huffs, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. "The problem is that nobody wears them anymore, Rachel."

"I wear them," Rachel says pointedly, "and  _I_  picked out that outfit for you. So unless you want to go wearing nothing at all, you'll stop complaining."

"Wow, somewhere between high school and now, it appears you've grown a backbone," Quinn jokes, her eyebrows wiggling good naturedly.

Rachel shrugs, which is a little ridiculous to watch because she's wearing this bedazzled denim jumpsuit, and it's just the weirdest thing ever because it makes Rachel appear even more tiny and even more crazy. "Look at it this way, Quinn, you'll be so drunk in two hours that you won't even care about this little Halloween getup I've put together."

"Did I forget to mention how fantastic you are for getting us into a party that has an unlimited supply of alcohol available?"

"Yeah," Rachel says seriously, her face grave (which only really served to make her look more ridiculous). "You did."

* * *

Quinn is  _plastered._

She isn't really sure how it happened, but she does know that one minute she was discussing how she thought Rachel's shortness was an advantage because it made her so darn  _sneaky,_ and the next minute Rachel was gone and Quinn was playing beer pong with people she barely knew (but somehow felt a camaraderie with, anyway).

She knows she should go find Rachel because that's what good friends do. If only she wasn't so drunk though, because drunk Quinn is a prideful Quinn and unfortunately for everyone else, that meant that she had plans to  _destroy_  everyone in beer pong.

"Ha!" Quinn shouts as another one of her ping pong balls lands in a cup of beer. Her arch nemesis (Quinn isn't quite sure of his name, but she's sure he's her nemesis because his hair is shaggy and his smile is weird and she hates the way he says moist) groans in aggravation and reaches for the cup.

The man slams the cup down after downing it quickly and sends a glare Quinn's way. "You're eerily good at this," he says suspiciously. "For a woman."

Quinn feels her skin prickle in anger as she remembers why this man is her arch nemesis. "Listen here, Ronaldo," Quinn says curtly. "You seem to be awfully sensitive. For a man."

"My name isn't Ronaldo!" The man shouts, his perfectly coiffed hair falling into his eyes.

Quinn smiles easily. It's good to know that four years of HBIC mode hasn't disappeared overnight. Quinn makes sure to send a wicked smile in the man's direction before responding. "Listen here, McRonald, your name is whatever I want it to be. So suck up whatever lady feelings you seem to be overwhelmed with and actually make an effort to not lose to me."

Before Quinn can shoot out another insult that would have made the men back home cringe (because sometimes being bad is just too good) she feels a pair of arms encircle her waist. Her body goes rigid because it's been years since anyone has touched her, at least like this. Affectionately and with a sense of longing. It's strange and lovely and everything else it could possibly be all wrapped in one.

"I win," Rachel says into Quinn's back. She's leaning a little heavily into a Quinn and it's a sign if there ever was one, that they were both drunk.

Quinn makes sure to carefully turn in Rachel's arms, so that neither of them end up in a drunken heap on the floor. Her conclusion is only further confirmed when her eyes meet a disheveled Rachel Berry. Rachel's mascara is smeared and her hair is going in every direction possible. She smells like lemons and vodka, which can't mean anything good, and her skin is flushed a tomato red. She's so incredibly drunk that if Quinn had been more sober, she would have taken full advantage of Rachel's state by making her do something ridiculous. Instead, she just laughs and ruffles Rachel's hair affectionately. "Why are you winning?"

"Because I found you," Rachel states obviously. "Duh."

"Okay," Quinn says, suddenly feeling a lot more tired than she was moments ago. "Okay."

* * *

"Remind me again why we're walking to your apartment?" Quinn whispers-at least she hopes she's whispering-to Rachel.

Rachel stumbles over a particularly large crack in the sidewalk and Quinn has to put her arm out to steady her. When she's sure that Rachel is okay and not going to die sometime soon from her terribly high heels and incredibly long frilly dress, she pulls her arm away and continues to walk-well, incoherently move with Rachel.

"Because I have a tofurkey in my freezer and you said it would never taste as good as actual bacon, so now we're on our way to my apartment," Rachel says in one breathe. "Because I don't like being wrong." Rachel adds as an afterthought.

Quinn nods even though she's still confused. It's pretty late and their in some pretty weird costumes. And she's about ninety-eight percent sure that she's drunk because she's pretty sure she just saw Waldo a few minutes ago, and that can't be right because she spent so much of her childhood looking for him. Anyway, her only solace is that Rachel seems to live incredibly close to her. About six blocks actually, and that's another thing. How is it possible that after all these years they would end up being only six blocks away from one another?

Perhaps it's the cheap apartments and perhaps it's the fact that they're both struggling to make it on what could only be defined as a ramen budget, but it was still nice, because sometimes when Quinn wasn't caught up in letting life get the best of her...well, sometimes she likes to pretend that it is  _fate_.

It helps that other people are stumbling home as well, and that they look just as ridiculous as Quinn feels. If not more so. "Oh yeah," Quinn says with a laugh. She remembers it fleetingly, how Rachel had claimed that tofurkey had tasted just as good (if not better) than actual turkey, and she remembers how she had demanded rather loudly and persistently, that Rachel prove it.

So now they were rushing back to Rachel's apartment, just so that Rachel could prove she was right. A part of Quinn was rather pleased though. It took getting Rachel incredibly drunk and challenging her for Rachel to finally take Quinn to her apartment. Quinn must admit that she was starting to get suspicious that Rachel was hiding something, because that is how Quinn operated now, always on suspicion.

She shook it off though because this is  _Rachel_ and Rachel is Quinn's best-well, only, friend. Quinn felt an arm wrap around her wrist and shifted her focus towards the brown building that Rachel is pointing at. She nods in a silent agreement and follows Rachel to the front door of the building. She waits while Rachel punches in a code and does her best not to giggle when Rachel does it wrong the first three times. Finally Rachel gets the door open and pushes Quinn inside, before shoving her towards the stairs. Somewhere inbetween the second floor and the fifth, Quinn thinks that they both got their second wind, because what starts as a steady climb turns into a mighty fine good time by the time they reach Rachel's door.

Rachel can't stop laughing at Quinn's attempt to twerk (she has no booty, okay, that shit is hard with no booty) when she slides her door open and Quinn laughs in response as she walks through Rachel's door.

Rachel's apartment is  _big_. A lot bigger than Quinn's and it's nicely decorated in a way that makes Quinn wonder if Rachel lives with people who have money. She's about to snoop when the thought of money crosses her mind again, and suddenly Quinn just wants to twerk, so she does.

This time she doesn't burn in embarrassment when Rachel burst out in laughter that could wake a whole neighborhood. Rachel's arm is around her waist because she's laughing so hard she can barely stand, but it's nice, it's very nice. It's clear that Rachel has woken up her roommates, or at least one of them, because she hears a door open in the corner and Quinn freezes with her arms above her head (how did they get there?) In what she hopes is a sober stance.

"Shh," Quinn says with a giggle. She's doing her best to make herself and Rachel appear sober, but she's pretty sure she's failing massively. "You don't want to upset your roommates."

"Hello Quinn."

Quinn's body jerks at the sound of her name. Her heart pounds in terror as her eyes adjust to the dark. When everything clears, her heart and her mind, Quinn is left with a very clear and very snazzy vision of Kurt Hummel. The gay boy in the show choir, Quinn acknowledges randomly. She lowers her arms because Kurt is very non threatening and Quinn is already tired.

"Quinn," Rachel says, her eyes wide in panic and her hands gripping onto Quinn's arms exceptionally tight. "I can explain."

Quinn wants to laugh. Rachel Berry makes everything a dramatic affair, she thinks, before she disentangled herself from Rachel's grip and wanders her way over towards where Kurt is standing. He's watching Quinn a little too intently and his lips are pushed together in a stern line, so Quinn smiles and bumps her shoulder against Kurt's, as if to say it's okay that Rachel didn't tell her about Kurt until now. And honestly? It is okay, because Kurt isn't the worst thing around. "Why would you need to explain being roommates with Kurt Hummel? We may not have been the best of friends in high school but he's not the worst thing around." Quinn shoots Kurt a wink. Or at least she hopes it's a wink. Her drunken mind is a little befuddled. "Oh man, this one time I had a roommate who used to eat  _all_  of my trail mix and then put the empty bag back int-

"Short stack, I need you to take your drunken ass to your bedroom. Along with the little yorkie you brought home. It's two am and I know you have a habit of taking in strays, but seriously, I gots to get my beauty sleep."

Quinn's smile freezes and her eyes squint in recognition. She knows that voice, she's sure of it, but there's no way that voice could be  _here,_ right? Quinn looks at Rachel and raises her eyebrows as if Rachel could read her mind-and maybe she  _could_ , because she's looking at Quinn with a worried expression and Rachel keeps jerking her head slightly to the right, like she knows that Quinn wants her to say that her assumptions are ridiculous. But then Rachel licks her lips and mouths 'I can explain' and before Quinn knows what's happening, Santana is standing in front of her and her head is spinning and it's too much.

Santana's smirk drops, She recovers quickly though, and smiles at Quinn in the way that old friends tend to acknowledge each other: often unwanted or unwarranted, and forced the whole way. Santana seems just as shocked as Quinn feels and it makes Quinn feel a little better to know that she wasn't the only person who was played this time around.

_**(You take the things you like and try to love the things you took.)** _

Santana shoots Rachel a look that screams betrayed and Kurt just continues to stand silently, like he expected this all along. Rachel's eyes never leave Quinn's and it upsets her. Her drunken mind might be boggled and this might be too much to handle, but she knows that something is wrong here.

Rachel  _lied._  To  _her_. Is her first thought.

Santana is her second thought, and every thought after that. Suddenly, the realization that Santana is standing a few feet away from her after all these years, hits Quinn, and it's overwhelming.

_Santana,_  she thinks.  _Beautiful Santana._

_Fate_ , she remembers.  _Is a cruel thing._

_**(** _ _**the development of events beyond a person's control)** _

It's hard to explain because Quinn hasn't felt something this unspeakable in years. She doesn't know what to do first, really. She wants to yell at Rachel, for blindsiding Quinn worse than that car did all those years ago. And she wants to hit Kurt, for standing there so quietly when clearly this moment shouldn't be a quiet one, and she wants to touch Santana, just to make sure that she's real. To prove to herself that she didn't imagine  _it_  all those years ago.

Instead, she  _cries_ , and it's the worst and very last thing she ever thought she'd do.

Rachel whimpers in response and Santana huffs in irritation and Kurt just sighs, and suddenly, this moment is running as long as the sentences in her head and Quinn just really wants them both to end so that she can wrap her mind around  _something_.

She turns around quickly and reaches for what she hopes is the door, her vision is blurred by the tears in her eyes and her heart is beating so loudly that she can't even hear anything but her own thoughts. She reaches the handle before anyone can protest and wrenches the door open. She stumbles her way outside while hoping that this is all just be bad dream

Quinn hopes it's just a bad dream.

* * *

Quinn makes it thirteen steps outside of Rachel's building before she feels a hand wrap around her wrist and tug her back.

"No," Quinn says adamantly. " _No_."

She's never been a fan of going backwards because it only leads to mixed emotions. She remembers the girl she used to be, the one who held onto Santana's every word, the one who sat alone at her grandmother's funeral. Quinn remembers that girl and she doesn't ever want to be her again.

She makes an attempt to push forward but Rachel is freaky strong and she tugs Quinn back, just like she did all those months ago, just like she did moments ago.

"Listen, Quinn, I know you're upset and I'm really sorry I didn't tell you about this sooner."

"Upset?" Quinn repeats. "No, Rachel. I'm  _seething_."

"I get that," Rachel says quickly, her eyes watering with unshed tears. She looks sad in this moment, and incredibly small. "I understand. I just...I was going to tell you."

"When?" Quinn asks forcefully. "Years later? I mean, it's been over two months, Rachel!"

"I know," Rachel responds. "I know! I had honestly planned to tell you right after we had coffee, but…"

"But what? Why didn't you?" Quinn asks. "You didn't think I had a right to know that you're living with my ex best friend? Old best friend. Friend of olden times. Whatever!"

"No!" Rachel exclaims, her hand letting go of Quinn's as fresh tears roll down her face. Rachel wipes at them half heartedly, her face scrunching up in anguish. "It's not like that!"

Quinn felt the heat rise to the top f her head as she tried to simmer her anger. It didn't work though, and Quinn felt the tips of her ears get red as she towered over Rachel. "Then what, huh? Explain to me how you're supposed to be my best friend but you've been keeping this…" Quinn can't even say it out loud, she can't admit to herself what it was all those years ago, or what she's feeling now. Saying things gives them power and she's already relying on a cane to do the hard work for her, she doesn't need to give anything else power. Not now. "Is this some sort of sick joke to you?" Quinn asks finally, completely out of reasons that could justify Rachel's secrecy.

"No! I just-" Rachel says, completely at a loss. She lifts her shoulders in a half shrug. "I wanted you all to myself, okay?"

Quinn blinks twice in confusion. She assumes it's the alcohol that's making her hear things. "What?"

"Why did you leave?" Rachel asks out of nowhere instead of answering Quinn's question.

Quinn staggers as if she's been hit right out of left field, and maybe she has, maybe that's why she feels so unbalanced again. "Huh?"

"Why did you leave?" Rachel asks again.

Quinn throws her hands up in exasperation, the frills on her dress flying up with her arms. "I don't know! Because sometimes going away is easier than staying?"

"No," Rachel disagrees before clarifying. "Why did you leave  _me_?"

It's a question that Quinn has thought about before, albeit in a completely different scenario. In her imagination, she was always the one asking the question and it has never occurred to her until now that she was also guilty of leaving somebody behind.

Quinn remembers now, clearly than she did months ago, and it's crazy how memory works. How it recalls memories that she couldn't even focus on all those years ago, but now she's remembering them with a frightening clarity. Quinn  _remembers_. She remembers Rachel coming to her house everyday after her grandma's funeral. She remembers the atrocious sweaters and the shy smiles and how Rachel was the first one to actually make her laugh in a long time.

She remembers late night phone calls and Rachel telling Quinn that she's the only friend she's ever really had, but that she's grateful to have one great friend instead of many good ones. It hits her hard, like a stab to the heart, to remember the promises she made back then. It's hard to stand in front of Rachel and recall a reason as to why she broke them. Why she stopped returning her calls, why she left town without so much as a goodbye, why she changed her number and ignored all the letters until eventually she didn't think about Lima anymore.

Friends are tricky things, Quinn reminds herself, they've always been touchy ground for her. She spent so long toying with the line between friendship that she had never had time to clearly define it. Quinn had spent so long giving things to Santana that for once, all she had wanted to do was take. And maybe that's why it's hard to look back on her actions as a teenager and not feel guilty, maybe that's why it hurts to see Rachel standing in front of her with a heavy heart, like she was the one who just turned Rachel's life upside down instead of the other way around. Maybe that's why she has to look away, because she's never been good at these sorts of things and she doesn't know how to start now.

**(THIS IS HOW IT WORKS.)**

"I hate her," Quinn admits, because a half truth is better than a whole one. "That's why I left." Quinn clarifies. "Because I hate  _her_  and I didn't want to be  _her._ "

Rachel stares at Quinn, her eyes no longer moist and her hands trembling at her side. "I don't understand."

"Yeah," Quinn agrees solemnly. "You don't."

* * *

Quinn ends up telling Rachel that she just needs time because she doesn't want to leave their friendship how she left it all those years ago. But it turns out that time isn't what it used to be, it doesn't heal all wounds and it doesn't make things easier any more. She feels betrayed in a sense, like this is her payback for wanting to  _try_.

She spends the first eleven days perfecting her daily routine. She wakes up and goes for a walk, eats breakfast, showers, goes to class, goes to the library, comes home, watches The Office on Netflix, has dinner, and goes to bed. She spends the first eleven days doing just that because it's simple and easy.

But then she wakes up on that twelfth day and she remembers that she needs her drama book from last year. So she goes searching through her tubs of old books and accidentally stumbles across a photo album from high school. She opens it, and then she remembers why she was trying to forget.

It hits her,  _hard_ , in the pit of her stomach and in the middle of her heart and all she can do is wish for it to go away.

She thinks about her grandma sometimes and when she does, the ache in her heart only grows. She tries to remember the good things but as she's gotten older the memories have gotten more and more blurry so that most of what remains is the bad.

It makes her sad that her grandma died never knowing who Quinn was, and it hurts her to know that when her grandma finally passed, she passed away alone and in some home where nobody really cared about her or who she used to be. It makes it worse that Quinn had loved her and that even when she didn't want to love her grandma anymore (when things were hard and seeing grandma Lucy was rough) she couldn't stop herself.

Her grandma had been so adamant about love, all those years ago. She used to tell stories where there was always a happy ending because love was the best thing around. Quinn slams her hand down on the table unconsciously, her mind hurting.

It all feels like  _lies_  that she can't run away from. Because her grandma forgot to mention all those years ago that sometimes the people you love leave you behind and there's really nothing you can do about it.

* * *

On day thirty seven she finally answers one of Rachel's calls. Perhaps she's in the Christmas spirit, perhaps she's tired of none of this making sense, she doesn't really know, but she still answers.

"Yeah?"

"Quinn!" Rachel yells in surprise and Quinn can hear commotion in the background. She hears some shuffling before Rachel shouts, "No, I will not give you the phone even when you use brute force!" Rachel's sentence is followed by a short silence before Rachel's voice filters back thru the phone, breathless and slightly anxious. "Quinn?"

"I'm here," Quinn says, because she is this time around.

"Okay," Rachel says in relief. "Okay...Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry," Rachel breathes. "I'm so, so very sorry."

In a way, Quinn is just tired, in another way, she's just curious. Either way, she doesn't have it in her to deal with this right now. She's done some things and now Rachel has done some things and maybe that's okay, as long as they try and get past it because truthfully? Quinn doesn't have anyone else, and she doesn't want to be alone. She doesn't want to end up like grandma Lucy.

So Quinn lies.

"It's okay," she says.

(It wasn't.)

"I'm not worried."

(She was.)

"This doesn't change anything."

(It changes everything.)

* * *

Rachel invites her over for Christmas two weeks later. Things are still...tentative at best, but it's between Rachel's or going home for Christmas, so Quinn picks the lesser of two evils. Rachel promises that it won't be weird but Quinn can't see how it would be anything other than weird.

Quinn picks up three boxes of wine on her way to the party. Even though she's going it doesn't mean she has to be sober for the event, so Quinn makes sure to bring enough wine to make everyone a little tipsy.

Quinn arrives thirty minutes late because she's torn between knocking on the door or just going back home. It turns out that she doesn't have to make a decision because the door ends up flying open and a body comes hurling out at her.

It takes her a moment to recognize that the blonde hair belongs to Brittany and that she's hugging Quinn like they've always been best friends. It irks her and this familiar feeling settles at the pit of her stomach.

"Quit squeezing her, Britt, she's not a teddy bear." A voice calls from the inside.

Brittany promptly lets go and when she does the air comes rushing back into Quinn's lungs. Quinn sends Brittany a shaky smile as Brittany grabs the bags at Quinn's feet and she follows Brittany in, her skin prickling in jealousy as she watched Brittany float through Rachel's apartment effortlessly and without any confusion.

It's clear that Quinn doesn't fit in here and it's even more clear that she doesn't want to stay, but Rachel is glancing at her nervously from the kitchen and Quinn decides that it's time she actually give something a go.

"I'll take a glass of wine, Rachel," Quinn hesitates. "Actually, make that two."

* * *

"So then he sends me this text like a week later, " Kurt says as he looks at his boyfriend-Blaine, his name is Blaine-lovingly. "And it says, 'I hunger without you'."

Quinn laughs along with everyone else, her buzz already working wonders. She was seated at a table with Brittany, Santana, Kurt, Blaine, Rachel, this guy in a wheelchair, and another man she hardly knew. It was good because Santana was seated on one side of the table and Quinn was seated on the other, and besides the long glances that Santana kept sending her, there was hardly any contact between the two of them. Quinn prefers it that way.

Blaine's cheeks tinted in embarrassment. He half smiled as he placed his hand on Kurt's knee. "Well, it's true. I do hunger without you."

"For a gay man, you're a very bad cook. It surprises me."

"Not all gay men are good at homely duties," Blaine says while rolling his eyes playfully.

Brittany nods. "Santana tried to fix my sink once. And then she broke it...and my dishwasher."

Santana smiles tightly as Quinn does her best to reel in the jealousy that keeps trying to make itself known. It's been years, she knows that, but a part of her can't let go of the fact that Brittany is the reason she came here alone. Brittany is the reason she hasn't seen anyone from Lima in years. Everyone laughs and Quinn watches as the man in the wheelchair grabs Brittany's hand and squeezes it affectionately.

It soothes the green little monster quicker than anything else could have and Santana's half smile that she shoots her way gets rid of the rest.

When she looks away Rachel is smiling at her and Quinn does her best to smile back.

* * *

Overall, dinner isn't awful. None of it is. It could help that she's had about nine glasses of wine and it could help that Blaine is the cutest thing to ever hit the gay scene since grumpy cat in a unicorn costume. Still, Quinn has had too much alcohol and it's making her extremely warm so she decides to step outside. It doesn't help that Rachel's apartment is covered head to toe in twinkle Christmas lights like she's trying to make up for everything with pure Christmas spirit), but that's neither here nor there.

She's standing outside watching the snow fall to the ground when the window opens behind her. She doesn't turn around because New York is such a beautiful sight to see, even when it looks lonely, and it's always nice to have something in common with the city you live in.

"It's been awhile." Quinn hears Santana say behind her, and she closes her eyes in response. She doesn't say anything and that prompts Santana to move closer. "Quinn?"

"No." Quinn answers sternly.

Santana sighs but doesn't move. "Look, I know this is weird or whatever but-look, I'm sorry…" Santana trails off before clearing her throat. She places her hands next to Quinn's and sighs again. "For a lot of things, actually. I just-back then I was…"

"What?" Quinn asks, genuinely curious. She's never understood Santana or the decisions that she makes, and she want to know. Quinn wants to know how Santana could just leave her behind like she was nothing.

And that's what it is, isn't it? Santana treated her like nothing for so long that Quinn had started to believe it. Quinn wants to hit her but she also wants to hug her and she's torn between her heart and her head.

Santana drums her fingers against the railing. "Things were changing," Santana says softly. "You were different, but I was still the same, and, well, I didn't want things to change back then. But nothing with you felt easy anymore. I couldn't...I couldn't handle any of it, so I figured if I just left it all behind that things would get easier."

Santana looks beautiful-she's always looked beautiful-and it makes Quinn feel as though no time has passed. Santana's standing in front of her after all these years and she just...how is it possible to still feel this way? As if her life was ending and starting over all at once? How is it possible for Santana to reappear in her life, for Santana to still be beautiful, for Quinn to still feel this way, for Quinn to want to forgive her? How is it possible to not  _see_  how this is going to royally fuck her up?

She knows she's older, but she feels seventeen all over again. Seeing danger and running straight towards it anyway.

"Did it?"

"No," Santana says honestly. "No it didn't."

* * *

Rachel invites Quinn over again on New Years Eve and this time Quinn is more prepared to say yes. She knows what a night like this will entail, and even though she isn't really friends with any of the people, she is working on it. Work is hard and the evening will probably be hard, but at least Quinn is trying. At least she isn't running away.

She only gets two boxes of wine this time and when Brittany opens the door in an elf costume, this time Quinn laughs. She sees bits and pieces of it now, Brittany's carefree attitude and how she made it easier to escape. She can see the pieces that drew Santana to Brittany now, and even though it doesn't make things better, it does make them easier to handle.

Brittany grabs the boxes of wine from Quinn while doing a little elf dance. Quinn follows her in this time before letting Kurt grab her hand and drag her towards the living room. Everyone (Kurt, Blaine, Rachel, Santana, guy in the wheelchair who she still doesn't know the name of) is on the floor sitting around a few bottles of Tequila. She eyes the liquor and grimaces, already knowing where this is leading.

"So," Kurt says as he plops down next to Blaine. "The game is-

"Truth or Dare," Quinn finishes, her eyes catching Santana's.

"Yeah, exactly!" Kurt exclaims. "How'd you know?"

"Santana plus Tequila," Quinn answers simply. She gives Rachel a smile and reaches for the bottle, her heart already set on winning. "Let's get this game started."

* * *

"Okay, okay!" Rachel yells over all the giggling. "I cried during one Sarah Mclachlan commercial! You cannot laugh at me for that, it was an emotional time."

"Yeah, an emotional time to be you," Santana cackles.

Rachel glares at Quinn, her eyes narrow and her lips set. "Quinn Fabray, prepare for payback!"

"Oh, I'm shaking in my thrift store bought Uggs," Quinn quips, mostly because of the alcohol and also because she's always wanted to say that.

"Fine," Rachel huffs. "Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," Quinn answers easily.

"Who was your first kiss?"

Quinn doesn't mean to look directly at Santana, but she does, and suddenly she's a teenager all over again. Her whole body feels warm and she's not certain if it's the alcohol anymore. "Um," Quinn says before looking away. "Finn?" She lies.

It's the first time she's ever had to take a shot for  _lying_  but it's worth it when her eye catches Santana's and Santana smiles like it'll always be their little secret.

"Santana!" Rachel yells. "Your turn!"

Santana rolls her eyes and smirks. "Truth, Short Stack."

Rachel bristles at the use of Santana's nickname. "Fine. Have you ever been in love?"

This time Santana avoids everyone's gaze and stares directly at the ground. "Yeah," Santana says, her voice thick. "Yeah, I have."

* * *

A few hours later she runs into Brittany on her way to the bathroom. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's because she's still curious but she doesn't have the heart to ask. Maybe it's because this is the first time she's been close to Santana in  _years._ Either way she's stopping Brittany in the hallway and holding her still.

"Do you ever think about what would have happened if you... _two,_ " Quinn insinuates, "had stayed together?"

Brittany shrugs carelessly and her elf hat bobs with her head. "It doesn't really matter."

"Why?"

"Because I think about a lot of things," Brittany answers.

* * *

The ball dropping in New York is still a wonderful sight to behold, even while drunk in and even while miles away. It feels magical and Quinn feels like how you ring in the new year is how you spend it.

Maybe she's meant to finally spend her life with other people, maybe new opportunities will hit her this year. Maybe she should really stop saying MAYBE.

She's out on Rachel's fire escape again, this time less drunk and more cold, when Santana steps up beside her.

"Rachel is a weird drunk that constantly wants to shuffle," Santana complains, and Quinn laughs because she can totally picture it.

"She's a good time though."

"Yeah," Santana agrees. She hears the three minute call out from inside and Quinn contemplates going in before settling on staying outside a little longer. She hopes Santana would let this be an easy moment. "Don't be mad at her."

Clearly she was wrong to hope. "I'm not."

"You are," Santana says before turning towards Quinn. She stares at Quinn fondly and it makes Quinn shiver. "But that's okay, because I am too."

"You're not making sense," Quinn says, irritably.

"I just don't like it when you frown," Santana says, changing the subject. Quinn shivers again. She hears Rachel call out the two minute warning and is about to tell Santana to just go inside, because this moment is strange enough without her interrupting it, but then Santana takes off her coat and places it over Quinn's shoulders and Quinn can't speak.

It's just like Santana, to do something Quinn didn't ask her to, to take care of Quinn without needing to be asked. Quinn turns towards Santana and watches as Santana looks out towards where the ball should be. Santana's skin is glowing, even though it's freezing. She's wearing a little black dress and flats and it's completely unnecessary but also the best thing Quinn has ever seen.

"She tries really hard," Santana says. "And she really loves you."

"I know," Quinn says, because she does. She does know that Rachel is trying and she does know that Rachel means well. Sometimes that isn't enough though. Sometimes good people do bad things and it doesn't make it okay just because they're good people. Sometimes actions  _hurt_  and there is no way around it.

"I went to visit you," Santana says quietly and it throws Quinn off guard.

She licks her lips and leans in just to make sure she heard Santana right. "What?"

"I went to visit you during your sophomore year," Santana repeats. "I bought a train ticket and I wrote you a letter and I got on that stupid ass train to New Haven. I had a plan, you know, to be your best friend again and I thought it was  _golden_  because I was nineteen and things make sense when you're nineteen."

"I…" Quinn trails off because she's at a loss.

"I got there and looked you up, you know. I was really excited to see you because it had been  _years_  Quinn. Years since we stopped speaking, a year since your grandma and the...the accident. I wanted to see you and make sure you were alive, and okay, and still _my_ Quinn."

"Don't," Quinn says, her heart already aching in a way that she didn't like. "Please don't."

"But then I got to the dorms," Santana continues, ignoring Quinn's request. "And you know what? You weren't registered. Your TA said you weren't a student anymore. You just  _left_ , Quinn, without telling anyone. You were just... _gone_  and it was hard for me because I had spent so long telling myself that everything was fine because I always knew where you were. I would always have time to fix what I broke. But you left and you changed things and I was really alone."

"You had Brittany," Quinn says weakly.

Rachel shouts out the one minute warning from inside and Quinn feels the anticipation bury itself in her throat.

"No," Santana disagrees. "By that time Brittany had Artie and Kurt had Blaine and I was supposed to have…" Santana looks up to the sky and gestures wildly with her hands. "Two years is a long time to think you're not going to see someone. We used to be best friends."

"We used to be," Quinn repeats.

Santana nods, her hair falling over her shoulders in a way that made Quinn just want to pull her close. "I used to pour laxative and Finnocence's hot chocolate for you."

Quinn laughs. "I remember."

"I changed the practice fire alarms for you so that we could sneak out and have a Taco Bell run," Santana says wistfully.

"You did," Quinn agrees, her mind fogging with all the nostalgic memories.

"I just can't believe you're here."

Quinn sighs and does her best to not sound disappointed. What she was expecting, she doesn't really know, but it has to be too early and too soon to hear any of this. She's still adjusting to a life with Santana and others, she doesn't think she can handle much more. "Me neither."

Quinn hears Rachel hit twenty seconds in her countdown and she grips the railing tighter. She feels like she's stuck somewhere in between the girl she used to be and the girl she wants to be and she has no idea how to get moving. She's caught in the heartaches from years ago and somehow they've left her stranded, they've put her behind, and she doesn't know if she'll ever be quite where she wants to.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

She expects Santana to ask her if she wants to go back inside, considering Rachel just hit ten seconds in the countdown, but instead she feels something that confuses her altogether. Santana puts her finger underneath Quinn's chin, just like she did all those years ago, and tilts Quinn's head towards her. Quinn's breath catches in her throat.

Santana leans in and Quinn wants to pull away, but she's doesn't. Instead she closes her eyes and braces herself. It's an all too familiar feeling, the waiting, but she does it anyway because this time she  _knows_  there's something she wants coming. At least she hopes there is.

It's cliche, but when Santana's lips touch hers this time, Quinn doesn't forget about just anything, she forgets about everything and all she can see, hear, feel, and taste is Santana. It shouldn't be like this  _now._ It shouldn't be like this years later when Quinn is barely the girl she used to be and Santana isn't the girl she loved.

Santana's warm, she's always warm when Quinn is cold, and her lips are soft even though Quinn's are hard. It's a peck, really, but then Santana steps closer and Quinn's hands a finding their way into Santana's hair and there's tongues and teeth and everything else Quinn used to dream about.

Quinn doesn't really have time to think anything of it because just as quickly as it starts, it's over, and Santana's climbing back into Rachel's apartment.

"Happy New Year, Quinn." Santana calls over her shoulder and Quinn raises her fingers to her lips, just to make sure the tingling on her mouth isn't from the cold.

She realizes that the worst thing that could ever happened is  _happening_  and it shoots her like an arrow through the heart.

Quinn Fabray is  _still_  in love with Santana Lopez.

 


	3. We Were Never Meant To Be, We Just Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 1. I apologize for the wait and I thank you for your patience. This took a lot longer than I expected and I can't thank you enough for the support and enthusiasm and everything else along with it. I sincerely intend on finishing everything I have started, so please don't lose faith. It will get done. I thank you for sitting thru all my commas and run-on sentences and crazy ideas that I've had. I hope this satisfies everyone in some way. Please, please review. It's the biggest motivation I have right now.
> 
> 2\. Quinntana IS endgame so please don't freak out or take offense at the creative liberties I've taken.
> 
> 3\. I have a tumblr! So if you have any questions or comments or want to message me personally, I'm more subject to answering on that platform. Granted, I kind of suck at tumblr and it hardly looks fancy, but I'm trying! So, anyway, enough of my rambles!

**(THIS IS HOW IT WORKS)**

_(_ _**It feels a little worse)** _

She feels overwhelmed.

That's really the only thing Quinn has properly analyzed since leaving Rachel's apartment.

She slipped out the front door easily while everyone else was embracing the New Year with new promises and newly opened bottles of champagne. It's strange, but now that Quinn's older she feels like both go hand in hand.

It's cold. Cold enough that Quinn has to cross her arms, hunch her shoulders, and hope for the best. But she keeps on walking, which is important. She keeps on walking home.

She feels a lot of things, honestly. She feels like she was dunked in a boiling pot of emotion and her mind doesn't know which pain to address first.

The first thought invades her mind quickly. Like a person with an agenda, it attacks all other forms of thought until the only thing left standing is the realization that Santana kissed her. Like really kissed her without warning and without caution.

Santana kissed her, like actually kissed Quinn as if time and distance and heartbreak had never graced Quinn at all. And even though Quinn wanted it (hell, she can't remember a time when she didn't want Santana) it wasn't what she needed. She  _knows_  this.

Quinn doesn't give her mind enough time to settle before she's shaking her head furiously at the memory of Santana's lips touching hers. Quinn can acknowledge the misfortunate timing of Santana's kiss while her lips tingle with nostalgia. But she knows better, she's always known better. She's not that girl anymore, so she's not going to obsess over some stupid kiss that Santana took upon herself to act out.

Quinn tells herself repeatedly on the walk home that it doesn't matter what happened tonight, that none of it is really important anymore because she's not Lucy anymore. The sad stuff doesn't matter. She's not sixteen and she's sure as hell not crying in the bathroom over Santana and her empty promises. Kisses aren't a prelude to romance, especially with Santana involved.

She doesn't need friends (not that Santana was ever just a friend), she tells herself, because she has New York and a scholarship to NYU and she's doing things with her life. And when you're doing things—big things, beautiful things— there's no need for loneliness. There's no need for comrades in the form of friends.

Except…outside of New York and the bustle of the city, she really only has a lot of late nights in an empty apartment. But it's okay, she thinks, it's normal when you're changing your life.

Except…sometimes she  _does_  get sad and sometimes she  _is_  lonely. But that's okay, right? It's perfectly acceptable to feel lonely sometimes in a city with eighteen million other people. She isn't immune to the feelings of life.

Except…sometimes she feels like she's sixteen again. And not in the sense that she's caught between inaction and awe, but in the sense that she's…scared.

Overwhelmed.

Terrified.

At a loss.

Unaware.

Quinn feels sixteen again not because she's struck with the familiar pangs of love and heartache, not because Santana's lips touched hers again for the first time since her teenage years, but because she doesn't know where to go from here. With herself, with Rachel, or even with Santana.

The big illusion associated with growing up and growing old is that you don't have to be that person you were, not anymore. The lie is in the fine print, listed between all the years it takes for you to separate yourself from the person you used to be, only for you to realize later that you're still that person.

The illusion is this: growing old means growing up, and doing both means that you'll be granted answers to all the things you never really knew in your youth. Because with age comes wisdom. That's what everyone says, and like a downright fool, Quinn had bought it. She was sold quicker than the newest remake of the iPhone.

She sees her mistake now, as she walks home at nearly one in the morning. It's a different city and Quinn would like to think that she's a different girl, but she's slowly realizing that she's not. She's still Lucy deep down underneath it all. She's still the girl who listened on completely captivated by Grandma Lucy's tales. She's still the girl who tripped over Santana's backpack, the girl who got caught up in mischief and friendship before she got caught up in love. She's still The Quinn Fabray. Q. Lucy Quinn. Lucy, and worst of all Quinnie.

Time didn't get rid of all these different versions of herself, not like she thought it would. Time didn't grant her any answers like she had always assumed, just because she was an adult.

And that's the problem, right? Because Santana and her…they both got older and yeah, sure, they both changed. They roughed out and cleared the lines of what made them who, but only in the finer details. The problem is that deep down Quinn is still that sixteen year old girl who couldn't admit to herself that she was in love with her best friend and Santana is still the same sixteen year old girl who would rather do anything else instead of acknowledging that.

The scary part is that it  _is_  years later and she's here  _again_  at the same crossroads with the same fucking problems.

She gets it now, she thinks to herself as she catches sight of her apartment building, why her mother was so speechless at her grandmother's funeral. Because even when you know what  _could_  happen, even when you know that life is full of all these possibilities and scenarios that could happen, you can still be blindsided. You can still be caught unaware and at your wits end.

She feels the overwhelming urge to cry as she punches in the code to get into her apartment building because, fuck, what the hell else can she do?

* * *

Quinn wakes up on her couch hours later when the sun starts filtering through her blinds. She was far too exhausted last night to put in the effort to walk to her bedroom and instead decided to plop down in a heap onto her not so very comfortable couch.

She opens her left eye first (just like always) before opening the right and then moving her arms into a half-hearted stretch above her head. For a moment, for a wonderful moment she almost forgets about last night or the four months that came before it. But then her eye catches the blinking blue light of her cell and immediately she's reaching across and snatching it up from her makeshift living room table.

She stifles a yawn and unlocks her phone, surprised to see several text messages. She's not exactly the life loner of the party but she's never been the type to have hoards of friends either. She scrolls down the list quickly and takes note where necessary before her finger lands on a number she doesn't recognize.

_**So, I was thinking we could get lunch sometime...if not that's cool** _

Quinn frowns and tries to recall if she gave her number out at any point in the past month or so. She briefly remembers a few kids in her anthropology class who she exchanged numbers with for a study group she was interested in. She smiles quickly and types out a response.

_**Depends on who this is? Haha.** _

She puts her phone down and stands up, her back already protesting her decision to sleep on the couch of eternal lumpiness. Quinn sighs and pads over to her kitchen, her hands reaching for the coffee pot out of habit. She wasn't very big on coffee when she left Yale but when you're constantly surrounded by it in the city that never sleeps? Well, there's no other choice but to cave and try it.

She waits until after she pours herself a cup of coffee to head back towards her couch. She tucks one foot underneath the other and leans back into, the smell of coffee waking her up a little. Quinn grabs her phone as she takes a sip and is surprised to see another text so quickly. She opens up the message and damn near drops her cell in surprise at the response.

_**Lol. Santana.** _

Her heart rate quickens as if one reflex and she mentally curses at the way her body is reacting because it isn't even Santana being near her saying these words, it's a text message. It's flimsy and simple and it makes Quinn react in a way that is clearly neither of those things. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before standing awkwardly. She wants to pace, but it's cold and her back is aching. She wants to say no, but she still has one hand full of coffee and  _Jesus_ , it's just a fucking text message.

Quinn licks her lips and places her coffee down on her living room table. She anxiously rubs her lips together before heaving a giant sigh and tossing her phone onto the couch.

 _Fuck this_ , she thinks as she heads towards her bedroom,  _fuck all of this._

* * *

She chooses not to respond more out of fear than anything else. Fear of old memories and old feelings, really. She spent a long time putting those things behind her and it's terrifying to acknowledge that maybe those feelings and memories never left, maybe things never really leave you. Maybe you just become more adept at ignoring them as time goes on.

Quinn isn't even sure how Santana acquired her number or why Santana thought now would be an appropriate time to make contact, because it's been  _years_ , but Santana has always been one crafty little devil.

She doesn't have time to comprehend it, not now, especially not while sober. So Quinn throws herself into her schoolwork even though classes don't resume for a few more days. She shuts off her phone and puts all of her efforts into her classes hoping that she'll at least know what she's doing in one area of her life.

* * *

It's her second week of class when Rachel calls.

Quinn's been so focused on school and work study that she's almost convinced herself that the past few months hadn't happened. It isn't easy, not at all, but nothing in Quinn's life has ever been easy. So she ignores Santana's message day in and day out and she pretends not to see her high school yearbooks lying on the floor in her bedroom and when people ask, she tells them she's from Connecticut  _not_  Lima because if she's going to ignore everything that Santana has brought back since New Year's, she might as well ignore everything that came before it as well. She knows she can't keep this act up, at least not for forever. It's draining emotionally and physically and mentally and some days she just wants to lie in the darkness of her apartment and not think about anything. Sometimes Quinn just wants time to stop so that she can put a pause on her life and figure out what the hell is going on. She's at a loss and she knows it. She knows that this is what she was afraid of because if Santana has ever been particularly good at anything, it's leaving Quinn at a loss.

It's not even the fact that Santana's back in her life. It's just...Quinn can't even comprehend what any of it means. What it meant back then and what it means now, if the two meanings are different or if they've always been the same. Honestly, Santana sent Quinn a text asking Quinn to go to lunch like nothing has ever changed, like they've always been chums and even though Quinn knows what's happened between them (even though she can still feel the ache of heartbreak) the little girl inside of her itches to respond. And Quinn wants to talk to someone about it, she wants to make sense of it all, but she doesn't really have anyone. Not in the way that counts. Perhaps that's of her own doing, maybe it's her own fault for pushing everyone away and for disappearing without a trace and without a word. She knows that she's a hard nut to crack and she knows that she doesn't give people much, not since she gave Santana everything, but it still sucks feeling alone and being alone.

Rachel, like always, is just caught in the unfortunate crossfires of Quinn's life.

She hasn't thought much about Rachel in the past two weeks. In fact, when she thinks about it she hasn't really thought about Rachel at all in the course of their friendship and the realization makes Quinn's heart feel heavy. It hits her then that she's never really thought about Rachel and her feelings, she's never put anything about that friendship into perspective. Quinn just sort of took what she needed because Rachel was always willing to give something. Rachel was eager, so damn eager- even now- and it makes sense that Quinn would never think about Rachel because Quinn just assumed she never needed to.

Perhaps that's part of the problem.  _Perhaps,_  Quinn thinks while accepting Rachel's call,  _perhaps she can't figure out what is happening now until she recognized what happened then._

"Hey," Quinn greets in what she hopes is a perfectly normal manner.

"Quinn!" Rachel exclaims. "You answered."

Quinn frowns as she steps out onto the sidewalk outside of her last class. "Is there a reason I wouldn't?"

"You just…" Rachel starts, her voice a little breathless. "You just left so quickly on New Years that I assumed I had done something wrong."

Quinn stops in her tracks and adjusts her side bag, her tongue brimming with sarcasm and harsh words because she's been too busy reassuring herself these past two weeks to have any energy left to reassure Rachel. But it's a new year and she wants to be a new Quinn, she wants to try and move past the things she never really could before.

She puffs out her cheeks and pushes the phone closer to her mouth. "Would you like to have dinner tonight?"

"Yes." Rachel answers without missing a beat. "Yes, of course."

* * *

They decide on this Indian restaurant that's about halfway between each of their apartments. Quinn dresses comfortably and grabs her cane as a safety measure before heading out. It's not terribly cold and she's dressed in layers, but this dinner is something she didn't get to brace herself for, it's just something she decided to do on a whim because if she's going to  _try_  she can't do it half-heartedly. So Quinn feels it's only best to bring her can along for support.

_(Just in case. Always just in case.)_

She arrives before Rachel which is honestly a surprise. Quinn catches the hostess's attention and is able to get situated in a nice little table near the window when Rachel arrives in a flurry. Rachel's hair is all over the place and her jacket doesn't match her red sundress and she's rambling about how the train was  _far too full for this time of nigh_ t and that  _stupid tourists keep stopping randomly to take stupid photos_  when Quinn laughs. Rachel has one arm hanging out of her jacket and she's talking a mile a minute and all Quinn can do is laugh because Rachel is just so  _very_  Rachel that it's crazy that Quinn ever thought Rachel really changed.

Sure, she's different, but everything that made Rachel  _Rachel_ all those years ago is still present. All those things are hovering barely beneath the surface and it's reassuring. Rachel grins goofily and for a brief moment Quinn feels like Rachel can read her mind. Quinn dismisses the thought immediately and hands Rachel her menu after she sits down.

"I'm really glad you asked me to dinner, Quinn." Rachel says while straightening her blouse. Rachel's cheeks are pink and even though her gaze shifts downwards, Quinn can tell that Rachel is pleased. Quinn likes it, pleasing Rachel, but she doesn't know a way to say that that isn't weird so instead she clears her throat and looks away.

"Well," Quinn starts as her eyes look over the menu. "I figured I owed you one."

Rachel doesn't ask Quinn to clarify even though there are so many things that Quinn is sure she owes Rachel. There's so many favors she has yet to return, but the good thing about Rachel Berry is that she never asks for clarification from Quinn. She just waits. God, Rachel has always waited.

They haven't talked about _it_. Any of it, and the fact that there are so many  _it's_  in their friendship that need further explanation is just more proof that this dinner was a long way coming.

The waitress is clearly overbooked because it takes her longer than necessary to notice that Rachel has arrived, and even though she notices she still takes her time heading over with two glasses of water before disappearing again.

"So, what's new?" Quinn asks at the same time that Rachel blurts out, "I'm sorry."

Rachel's eyes lock onto Quinn's as heat rushes to her cheeks. Quinn smiles when Rachel genuinely laughs shortly afterwards because this encounter is far more awkward than it should be, and honestly, why is that?

"Why are you sorry?"

Rachel sighs and looks down, her fingers absentmindedly pulling at her napkin. "I…" Rachel starts, her shoulders tensing. "I should have told you about Kurt and Santana."

Quinn feels the air  _whoosh_  out of her lungs. It's just like Rachel Berry to dive right into everything without so much as small talk first. Rachel's back straightens as Quinn's hands find the sides of her chair. She squeezes the wood for clarity and if she's being honest, for reassurance.

Rachel lurches forward like she can tell that Quinn is fighting with her basic need to just always run away from things like this. Rachel looks at Quinn softly, as though she's trying very hard not to terrify a small animal, before she starts speaking again. "It was wrong and selfish, I know that. Keeping secrets…" Rachel frowns slightly, "keeping secrets from you has never been my intention, Quinn. I wanted to tell you."

"But you didn't, did you,  _hun?"_ Quinn spits out the sentence so quickly and so cruelly that she doesn't even realize what she's saying or the sneer that's taken over her face until Rachel rears back as if she'd been burned.

Quinn inhales sharply and presses into her brow with her right hand. "I'm sorry," Quinn says and she hopes that Rachel knows she means it, that Quinn's always meant it when it comes to her. "I'm  _so_ sorry, Rachel."

Rachel tries to smile but it's clear from the water in her eyes that it's forced. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who lied."

Quinn wants to agree. She wants to yell and throw things and fucking cry. She wants to tell Rachel that she did lie about perhaps the biggest thing Quinn has had to ever get over and that Quinn would have been fine-she  _was_  fine before Rachel bumped into her on that unfortunate day. She wants to scream about how she had a life without Santana and how there were days and weeks and  _months_  where Quinn didn't think about any of them at all, where Quinn didn't feel her heart ache, where Quinn didn't feel much of anything at all. She wants to tell Rachel that feeling too little was easier than feeling too much and that Rachel ruined everything. Rachel's gone and ruined it all and now Quinn can't sit in class without thinking about what happened in between Lima and now, she can't go through a day without wondering how Santana came to live with Rachel or what they've been up to these past few years or god, if they've ever even thought about her like she's thought about them.

 _But it isn't fair_ , Quinn thinks,  _to subject Rachel to all her pain when Rachel has always been blissfully unaware._

Rachel with her knee high socks and earnest demeanor. Rachel with her offers of friendship and her unwavering loyalty, has always been in the dark about everything but has always been so eager to accompany Quinn anyway. Even now Rachel is apologizing to Quinn for the sake of their friendship when Rachel doesn't even really know what she's apologizing for. Nobody but Quinn knows and Quinn thinks that maybe it's time she changes that. Maybe it's time to stop relying on all the different versions of herself in specific moments. Maybe it's time that Quinn accepts she's all these people and that she can be all of these people all at once. That she's not specifically Lucy or Quinnie or Q, but that she's this jumbled mess of all of them.

"No," Quinn corrects, her braver side oozing into her pores. "No, I lied too."

* * *

By the time the waitress makes her third round, Quinn has already had two too many glasses of Sangria and finally feels an ease settle into her bones that truth usually brings.

"Okay," Rachel says with a genuine smile. "Can you start at the beginning?"

Quinn wants to, but there are far too many beginnings to pick from, so she settles on the easiest. "Santana is  _your_  roommate. How about we start with that?"

Rachel rolls her eyes even though it's clear she's anything but irritated. "Honestly, it's not that great of a story."

"Well tell it and then I'll be the judge of that!"

Rachel laughs and holds up her hands in surrender. "Fine! Fine." Rachel smiles when the waitress hands her another glass of water. "She honestly just showed up one day after my freshman year."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Rachel says with a half-hearted shrug. "We were never particularly close in high school or even afterwards. But one day I came home from dance practice and she was by my door crying. Believe me, Quinn, when I say I don't even know how she knew where I lived or how she found me."

"She's always been crafty," Quinn answers.

Rachel laughs again. "Yeah, she's  _definitely_  crafty. Anyway, I invited her in and she just never left. She can be pretty annoying and I've probably grown too accustomed to her barbs, but overall she's not terrible to live with. To this day I still don't know why she chose me or what she was crying about, but I pride myself on the fact that I've always offered my friendship in every situation. No questions asked."

"No questions asked." Quinn repeats, because it's the perfect description of who Rachel is and who she's always been.

"So."

"So?" Quinn repeats again.

Rachel shrugs. "Your turn."

Maybe it's the Sangria, maybe it's the fact that Quinn is tired of going at this whole thing alone. Either way, she surprises herself when nothing but the truth slips from her lips. "I didn't mean to become friends with you. I mean-I didn't mean to become friends with anyone back then. I was confused, I think. My grandmother...she was getting sicker and Santana was hanging out more and more with Brittany and honestly, I didn't know how to handle waking up every day without thinking about either of those things. But then I ran into you at the mall and you made me go shopping through that ridiculously weird sweater store with you and...you made things easier, Rachel. You always have."

Rachel's eyes shine then, like she's waited years and years for Quinn to say this (maybe she has) and it's nice that Quinn is finally doing something right. She ignores the tears that sting at the corner of her eyes and continues.

"Then my grandma passed, you know? And things got harder because I've only ever been good at bottling things up and I didn't know it was possible to let them all go. I didn't know what to say to you when your concerns were Glee Club and Finn and if you'd make it to Broadway one day because my concerns were nowhere near the same. I lost her," Quinn says, and she's careful not to clarify who her is exactly. "I lost her and all I wanted was to get her back. But I couldn't tell you this. I let it overwhelm me until one day while driving down the highway I took a left and-"

Rachel gasps because she  _knows_. She's always been able to read in between the lines with Quinn. Still, Quinn continues on, with the tears slowly falling down her face. "I did it because I thought it'd be easier. But then I woke up in a hospital and you were there  _still_  and everyone was just so fucking grateful for me to be alive...and I couldn't...I was depressed, Rachel and I thought the only way to get better was to get away. So I left as soon as I recovered and I shut everyone out because I thought it would make things feel better, and it did, for a little while. I missed you though, terribly. You were-you are my very best friend. You always have been and I'm sorry that I never told you that, I'm sorry that I let you think I didn't care and that your life was unimportant when compared to mine. I ju-"

Nothing prepares her for the feeling of Rachel scrambling out of her chair and pulling Quinn roughly up and into her. She holds onto Quinn so strongly that Quinn can barely breathe. Rachel's squeezing Quinn so tightly, as if Rachel can put all of Quinn's broken pieces back together in just one hug. She's sure that they're causing a sort of scene but she doesn't care. Not when Rachel's crying so openly into her shoulder and not when Quinn is hugging her back.

The night continues on with more alcohol and more stories, but none of them feel as heavy or as hard as the one she shared first. Quinn doesn't tell her the truth about Santana, not yet, because she thinks that one secret at a time is good enough. At least for now.

* * *

They start having weekly dinners with just the two of them and it's nice to have someone so unabashedly in her corner all the time. It's nice to talk about her day and her doubts and everything in between.

They don't discuss Santana or the text message that sits unanswered in her phone. She doesn't bring up the fact that she saved Santana's number (for reasons she can't even begin to explain) and Rachel doesn't mention her roommates or ask Quinn any more questions regarding the past.

They're in their own little friendship bubble and it's nice.

Until one day it just isn't anymore.

* * *

"I don't understand why you need me to come over tonight, Rach." Quinn says into the phone that's pressed between her right shoulder and her ear.

"Because I'd like all of my best friends to help me get ready for my work date tonight. It's important."

Quinn sighs, agitated as she pads across her floor and into her bedroom. "You already have Kurt and Santana, you don't need me." Quinn points out even though it hurts her heart to admit it. "Can't we just have dinner tomorrow?"

"Quinn," Rachel huffs out in irritation. "I need your help and I would think that as one of my best friends you wouldn't be anything but willing."

"I am willing to help you out, you know that. I just don't see why I need to go ov—"

" _Quinn_." Rachel interrupts, clearly exasperated.

Quinn sighs and falls backwards onto her bed. "Yes?"

"I have been patient and I haven't pushed and I've waited for you to feel comfortable, but I can't sit back anymore. You're either my best friend or you're not."

"I am, Rachel! You know that."

"If you are  _really_  my friend you would get over this petty spite you have with Santana and you would come over to  _my_  apartment with  _my friends_  without being under the influence or without any excuses about how you have to leave early and you'll help me pick out an outfit that is both respectable and sensual so that I can impress the director. If you are my friend, Quinn, you'll fucking _try_."

Quinn doesn't have a chance to respond before she's met with a dial tone.

"Fuck!" She yells as she throws her phone onto the floor.

 _Fucking_  Rachel Berry and her  _fucking ethics_.

* * *

In the end, Quinn goes, because Rachel's usually right about these sorts of things and because she's come too far now to take any steps back. Never mind the fact that it's Valentine's Day, never mind the fact that Rachel practically demanded she be here. Never mind the fact that Rachel doesn't really need her input, just her reassurance.

Because that's what best friends are supposed to do, reassure.

She knocks on the door and braces herself, suddenly self-conscious about her outfit of choice and if her Doc Martens were fashionable enough and if Santana would be wearing some low cut dress an—

"Wow," is how Santana greets her, and it's stupid that one word could melt away all of her thoughts. But Quinn gets the feeling that it's not so much the one word as it is the one word from this one girl.

Quinn smiles because there are no words, she never has any actual words for Santana while sober—at least not now. There are far too many things to say and to want with Santana, there are far too many  _what's_  and _if's_  and  _how could you's_  that it's just better if Quinn doesn't really say or do anything at all. She gestures behind Santana because her body clearly hasn't caught up to her brain (and she'd be a fool if she let her gaze linger on anything other than the apartment), and Santana shifts to the side wordlessly.

She's prepared for this. At least, that's what Quinn tells herself when she walks the somewhat familiar path to Rachel's section of the apartment. She's survived heartbreak and loneliness and abandonment and confusion. She survived an accident and a wrong turn so she can clearly survive this. She can do this because she's Quinn fucking Fabray and this is not hard.

"She's not here." Santana comments behind her and even though Quinn knows what she said, even though she heard Santana loud and clear, Quinn continues towards Rachel's makeshift bedroom.

Her heart starts beating quicker against her will and she prays to herself silently that Santana is lying, because Santana has told so many lies since Quinn bumped into her all those years ago, and Quinn needs for that to not change. At least not right now, at least not for this moment. She doesn't think she'll be able to take it if Santana is finally telling the truth.

She feels like a fool the moment she pulls back Rachel's curtain only to find an empty bed. She knows better than to fall back on scheming plots and pre-planned scenarios, but Quinn's also a human being and she can't help but feel like Rachel did all of this on purpose. She can't help but feel like the world has eluded her again and sided with Santana again because of course the universe would stick her in an empty apartment with Santana Lopez on Valentine's Day.

Of course this would fucking happen to her. Quinn leans on her cane reflexively. She's never been gladder to have the stupid wooden thing because she's never been particularly good at bracing herself for anything. It's a quick change of heart from the girl who was just telling herself that she was prepared for  _this_  moments ago, as if Quinn would ever be prepared for any of it, as if Quinn had ever been prepared for Santana.

"Quinn," Santana calls out hesitantly.

Quinn puffs out her cheeks and presses her right hand to her temple. God, the urge to grab a cigarette is mountains high and she doesn't even smoke.

"Quinn," Santana says again, her voice closer this time. "Would you like something to drink? Berry always keeps a bunch of that soy crap in the vegetable bin."

Quinn whirls around quickly, her body coming face to face with Santana. It's a mistake and she recognizes it as soon as soon as her eyes land on Santana's concerned ones. Her eyes rake over Santana's outfit on reflex and her body shudders as she takes in the sleeveless blue mini dress that Santana is wearing. God, who dresses like that at home? Is that even necessary in the middle of February?

"I'm just gonna go," Quinn states.

Santana reaches out then, with her hands and with her words and it's just not right, none of it is. "No, wait. Quinn-let's talk. Please?"

"Nope." Quinn says with a shake of her head. "No, no, no."

"What?"

"We're not doing this."

"Doing what?" Santana asks, her face scrunching together in confusion.

Quinn moves her hand back and forth between their bodies. " _This_ Santana. We're not doing this." Quinn attempts then to step around Santana, her cane acting as a proper protection barrier. She's almost completely around Santana when she feels a hand wrap around her forearm and pull her back.

"Quinn," Santana says, her eyes pleading. " _Please_. I want to talk to you, okay?"

Quinn scoffs, a wry smile on her face. She pulls her arm free and takes a step back so that she's not overwhelmed with the scent of Jasmine and limes. They've somehow situated themselves in between the couch and the hallway and it's an awkward position because there's not much space for Quinn to move at all, but she still manages to take another step back towards the couch. "Of course you do. Things always happen when you want them to, don't they?"

Santana ignores Quinn's jab and presses on. "I know I shouldn't have kissed you on New Year's, okay?"

"Don't," Quinn warns, her lips pushed into a thin line.

 _She's not ready_ , she thinks,  _to actually come face to face with the memories of her past_. Rachel is one thing and her grandmother is another, but Santana is something completely different. Santana isn't just a memory, she's  _it_  and she's always been  _it_  and it sucks that Quinn has to stand here all these years later and face it again. It sucks that Quinn has to stand here and acknowledge the one thing that she's been avoiding since New Year's, the fact that years and distance and people have come in between everything and anything they've ever had and yet Santana is still  _it_.

Quinn knew it the moment she saw Santana on Christmas and she knew it the moment Santana's lips touched hers last month. She's known it since she was Lucy and Quinn knows it now because she's  _still_  Lucy, and that part of her will never go away or change. That part of Quinn will never stop loving Santana and that's the problem because Quinn doesn't know how to separate herself from that girl and she doesn't know if she still wants to.

It'll be too much. Quinn fears it's too much already.

**(THIS IS HOW IT WORKS)**

_**(You're young until you're not)** _

But like always Santana pushes when Quinn just isn't ready. "It  _was_  wrong of me to be so presumptuous. It was wrong for me to assume that it was okay and that you would want me to kiss you. It was wrong for me to assume that you were single or that you wanted me or even that you could still want me or love m-"

"How dare you!" Quinn yells, her cheeks burning with anger and all of her resentment piling into the forefront of her mind.

"What?" Santana asks, surprised at Quinn's outburst.

"How dare you assume I could ever do anything  _but_  want  _you,_ " Quinn spits out, her body seething. She steps forward and jabs her finger into Santana's chest, hoping that it's just as painful as the words that she knows she's going to have to say. "How dare you try to have this conversation with me  _now_  after you've already taken what  _you_  wanted!"

Santana opens her mouth to object and Quinn shoves her, forcefully, causing Santana to stumble to the floor. Quinn knows that this isn't the way that this should have happened. She knows that she needed to have a conversation with Santana to get all of these emotions out, and she knows that it needed to be a proper conversation, not whatever this thing was. But Quinn is angry and she's irritated and she's so fucking confused and she just doesn't understand why life would do this to her, why God had to make things so damn hard.

"No!" Quinn shouts when Santana attempts to stand back up. Santana lowers herself until she's kneeling and it only spurs Quinn on more. Santana's humoring her now because the old Santana Lopez would have shoved her back by now, the old Santana would have start spewing insults and expletives until Quinn was downright overwhelmed. But Santana isn't doing any of those things and somehow that makes it all  _worse_ , that Santana would choose now to care about her feelings. "You don't get to do this!" Quinn yells, her hands shaking as her feet start pacing the floor, her cane suddenly nowhere to be found. "Not now, not after all these years...how dare you. How dare you put yourself into my life so casually and how dare you take yourself out just as easily. How dare  _you,_ Santana, leave  _me_  senior year when we were supposed to be going places."

"I know," Santana whispers dejectedly. There are tears in her eyes and her hands are gripping her knees so tightly that Quinn can count her veins, and for once Quinn doesn't care.

" _No._ How dare you…" Quinn trails off, her head jerking back and forth at the memory. "How dare you  _fuck_  me,  _tease_  me, _love_ me, and plead with me not to be with anyone else when you were...God, when you were with  _everyone_  else. How dare you let me sit alone at her funeral and in that hospital bed without so much as a fucking phone call? How fucking dare you, Santana Lopez, assume that I would ever be anything except in love with you and all your stupidity."

Santana's staring up at Quinn, all wide eyed and speechless and it's weird. Yes, Quinn is in love with her and yes, Quinn doesn't think she'll ever not be. But that doesn't change what happened. It doesn't make everything that Santana did disappear and Quinn feels like Santana knows that, that she must sense it deep down underneath all the false bravado, because she's looking-no she's begging Quinn with her eyes to not continue. For once though, Quinn does, because if she doesn't she'll crumble underneath the weight of it all.

"It's not worth it."

There's love and then there's obligation, and sometimes they're one in the same. And sometimes they're not.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," Santana says into the empty air. She's crying now, openly, and that's another change that Quinn just isn't quite used to seeing. "You have to understand that. I was _scared_ , so very fucking scared of it all."

"I know," Quinn answers, because she does know that Santana's sorry. She can tell. "But sorry doesn't make it all better, Santana. I was good without you."

"I know."

Quinn sighs before lowering herself onto her knees so that she's no longer towering over Santana. "I  _am_  good without you."

Santana looks down at her hands, her shoulders slumped forward. "I know."

Quinn hates it, she hates how even though she should be feeling justified in all of this (because Quinn was so clearly justified) she couldn't help but want to reach out and comfort Santana. Love is an odd thing. It ruins you and makes you completely incapable of pure and unadulterated hatred. She wants to push Santana away and scream and tell her that she's the worst part of everything, but instead she scoots closer to Santana. It's better this way, she thinks, without the screaming and the heels and the height. It's better this way when they're both sitting so close together that they can hear the other one breathing, and when there's no distance, just words.

"You fucking ruined everything," Quinn whispers to no one in particular, she whispers it because it's the truth and the truth feels fitting.

Santana's shoulders shake and her sniffle rings louder than Quinn's words. "I  _know_. For fucks sake...I know, Quinn. I just-I love you and I never stopped loving you, okay? And it's sappy as shit and probably the grossest thing that's ever left my mouth, but I do. You were always super annoying and obnoxious and you never...you never objected to anything I said, you just let me be me even though the real me is a bitch and I left-" Santana stopped, her eyes searching for Quinn's until wet brown ones met dry hazel. "I left you behind because you were it for me and I wasn't sure if I would ever be good enough to just be it for you, and that's terrifying at sixteen, okay? Fuck, it's terrifying now. But I want to try. I want us to be friends."

Quinn bit the inside of her cheek as her hand unconsciously moved towards Santana's. "You took advantage of me, Santana. You took advantage of my love for you then and you're doing the same thing now. We both know that we were never particularly good at just being friends.  _But_  we need to learn how to do that now, for Rachel's sake. We need to learn to draw the line because I can't keep pretending like you don't exist." Quinn raised her hand to cut Santana off before she could respond. "This doesn't mean that everything is okay now, Santana. I can't forget, okay? It just means that it's all going on the back burner until we can actually have this conversation without me pushing you on the ground."

Santana laughs then and for a brief moment Quinn finally feels like things are going her way. "Okay. Then, I guess, kind-of friends?"

"Yeah, kind-of friends," Quinn agrees.

* * *

**(THIS IS HOW IT WORKS)**

_**(Taking steps is easy)** _

Friendship is a tricky slope to navigate all over again, especially with Santana. Quinn keeps her guard up from the moment the shaky agreement is made to the moment Rachel comes back from her weird work dinner date. It's still up now, six weeks later, when she's on her way over to Rachel's loft.

She knows that she agreed to try and form a friendship and in Quinn's defense, she is truly trying. It's just that she's a lot more wary than necessary of everything that Santana does. She wants to give in and give it her all because Santana has been putting forth all of her best efforts, but a part of her just can't let the past go.

They're not friends, not now and not really, but they're a lot closer to something than they were six weeks ago. Quinn can bare to be in the same room as Santana for longer than a few minutes and Santana generally avoids all discussions involving Lima or any of their shared past. They're putting their issues on the back burner for now, and it's nice.

Besides that, everything is is pretty much trudging along. She got a job at the campus library for some spending money, her classes are going along swimmingly, and she's even started talking to a few kids from her Ethnic Literature class. Overall, her life is a hell of a lot different than it was six months ago and Quinn doesn't know if that's bad or good or just whatever.

Still, something feels out of place. Quinn can't quite put her finger on it most days but something feels off, she still feels off. She chalks it up to age and college and the fact that she's more of an adult now than she's ever been even if she doesn't feel like it.

Growing up is weird and growing old is even weirder.

* * *

It's a sign of how far their friendship has progressed when Kurt opens the door to the loft and just steps to the side without any questions. Quinn passes through the door and sets her bag next to the obviously lopsided coffee table. She doesn't know how Santana convinced Rachel to keep something so imperfect, but it's nice to see such strange things whenever she's feeling so strange herself.

"There's leftover coffee in the pot if you're interested," Kurt says over his shoulder as he heads back to his partition.

Quinn smiles softly and heads over to the kitchen. "I'm surprised there's any coffee left."

Kurt peeks his head out from his makeshift room-from behind his curtain and raises his eyebrows. "Well, Santana is still sleeping and Rachel's out. So, I would have some before hunger wakes up the hibernating bear."

Quinn chuckles lightly and pours herself a cup of coffee. "I think that's a highly accurate description of Santana, actually."

"Last week she actually roared when she woke up and there wasn't any more Captain Crunch," Kurt says as he heads over to the kitchen, a black blazer over his white dress shirt and his side bag hanging on his shoulder. "It's safe to say that no description could be any more accurate."

Quinn laughs as Kurt reaches around her and pulls her into a hug. He kisses her on the cheek as she pulls away. "Alright, I'm out. If it wakes before Rachel arrives, there are Twinkies hidden above the fridge. Just throw them at her and scatter."

At this point Quinn's shoulders are shaking and she can't hold in her laughter for the sake of being kind, so she lets it loose. A loud, long laugh finds its way out of her mouth and before Kurt can actually make his way to the door, Santana has emerged from her room. She's wearing a t-shirt that's two sizes too big and sweatpants that lay low on her hips. She's got her hair down but it's basically all over the place because Santana clearly hasn't had the time or felt the effort to do anything but move towards food.

It's silly that her heart beats faster because it's been six weeks and Santana isn't even wearing anything provocative. It's been six weeks but it's also been nearly four years and she shouldn't feel like this jumbled mess of nerves. However, she does, and unfortunately it changes nothing.

Santana narrows her eyes at Kurt. "Nothing should be that funny this early in the morning."

"Sweetie," Kurt says sympathetically. "While I'm usually inclined to agree with you, it's nearing three in the afternoon. If it were any later you'd basically be an owl."

"As much as I love your useless analogies and metaphors in the bright sunshiny morning, I needs to get my coffee on and your ass is standing in the way."

Kurt wiggles his eyebrows at Quinn and winks. "That's my cue to head out, catch you pretty girls later!"

"Not all gays are cheery this early, please go," Santana grumbles as a goodbye.

Kurt laughs, his eyes shining. He slides past Quinn and pats Santana on the head before heading out of the apartment, the door sliding shut behind him.

Quinn smiles at the exchange, her coffee cup at her lips. It's cute to see them act this way. She can see the years of friendship painted by the interactions in between them and it's breathtaking. It's breathtaking to be a part of an exchange that's so natural and so fluid.

Santana maneuvers around Quinn until she's a foot or so away from the coffee pot, all the while grumbling about how much she hates mornings and how she hates people and how she _especially_ hates morning people.

"Okay, seriously, who the fuck drank the last of the coffee?!" Santana exclaims, her hands flying up in irritation. Quinn's eyes widen when Santana turns around and her gaze falls on the cup that's inches away from Quinn's mouth. Santana narrows her eyes intimidatingly but it's a little hard to be intimidating when her hair is sticking out in the most ridiculous way.

Instead of backing away, Quinn laughs again (since she's so full of them), and it's totally the wrong thing to do because Santana's eyes sharpen and her shoulders straighten. It's so clear that Santana is preparing for battle that Quinn puts her cup down on the counter before it became another casualty in the war they've created.

It's been  _years_  since the Cheerios- since Quinn and Santana had operated as a team, but her memory is still there and the characteristics that helped them flow so effortlessly together haven't really disappeared. So when Santana's eyes glaze over, Quinn is ready for the next step, and when Santana lunges for her Quinn is already gracefully dancing out of her grasp and into the living room.

Because that's what it is between them, a dance.

Santana lunges in what Quinn thinks is her brash way of trying to  _lead_  this weird little number and Quinn slides away because that's the only way she really knows how to  _follow_. They continue on like that for a while, Santana chasing Quinn around the apartment and Quinn effortlessly dodging her.

After about half an hour their little routine doesn't feel so effortless anymore. Quinn isn't seventeen anymore, she doesn't have the cheerios and some insane captain to kick her ass into shape. She eats food that she actually likes now and only really exercises when she has to, and it shows, because Quinn starts to feel winded and her graceful movements become a little clumsy.

She's trying to spin her way around the couch but she's tired and her back is aching, so she slows her movements, only to be caught in the claws of one Santana Lopez. Santana clutches Quinn's arms and pushes her down on the couch before she lowers her body until she's straddling Quinn.

"Say mercy."

Quinn struggled helplessly underneath Santana's full weight but old habits die hard because Quinn still refuses to give in. "Never," she says breathlessly.

Santana shrugs carelessly. "Then you leave me no choice."

Quinn doesn't have time to protest before she feels two hands wrap around her sides and tickle her. She's caught off guard by the intimacy of the moment way before she even registers that Santana's hands have hit her sensitive skin. They're not this close, their friendship hasn't evolved enough for them to even be doing this. And yet, somehow they still are.

Before Quinn knows it she's giggling and the sound of her own voice feels like a betrayal because her body is always giving Santana things that Quinn doesn't think she deserves. She's trying to wriggle away, caught between her own laughter and Santana's fingers, when Santana just suddenly stops and looks at her so intently that Quinn feels frozen on the spot. Quinn's breath hitches as Santana's hands settle casually on her hips, and Quinn doesn't move because everything just suddenly feels so heavy.

Santana's gaze weighs her down everywhere and in everything, just like it always has.

It isn't fair, Quinn thinks, for Santana to still have such a hold on her. So she pushes it (Santana, her gaze, everything) away until Santana's all the way on the other side of the couch and Quinn can bear to look at her again.

One thing Santana has always been is smart, and Santana shows it when she decides not to comment on the change in the air and instead gets up from the couch and heads back to the little corner she calls her bedroom.

Quinn releases the breath she didn't know she was holding and grips at the cushion below her, as if the couch cushion was enough to ground her. Quinn doesn't quite understand why things are so weird between them because they are trying to be different. They  _are_  trying to rewrite the history that they created. They're dancing around the black holes that have always existed in their relationship. They're nothing more than somewhat acquaintances right now, that much is clear, and at least Santana has enough common sense to let the moment pass without turning it into a moment.

Quinn hears Santana return before she sees her. She hears the clicking of shoes across the hardwood floor and her eyes are drawn to the four inch hooker heels that are now crossing the living room in search of something. It takes a second for Quinn to register the sight in front of her because Santana has swapped her bedroom outfit out in favor of a more revealing one. Santana's hair is still disheveled and she's gone without her usual make up, but none of that really prevents Santana's beauty from shining. Santana has chosen to wear a black and white striped mini dress (Quinn is certain that it's actually just a shirt) that barely covers her ass. Santana has on black heels and is slipping on her black pleather jacket that she found underneath a pile of Kurt's fashion magazines when Quinn is finally knocked out of her stupor.

"Where are you going?"

Santana slipped on a pair of large shades before turning to face Quinn. "Breakfast."

Quinn stares at Santana in disbelief. The momentum keeps shifting so quickly that Quinn feels like she's just playing catch up. "Okay?"

Santana sighs and heads towards the door, her hair bouncing with far too much pep. At least, that's what Quinn thinks. Santana grabs the door handle and pulls the door open, her biceps tightening at the effort required to pull the metal door open. She sighs again before shooting a casual glance over her shoulder and Quinn can't help but wish she knew how to be just as casual.

"Are you coming or what?" Santana asks.

Quinn doesn't waste time with an answer. It would be as pointless as Santana's question because of course she was going to follow Santana wherever she was going. That was always their problem. So instead of speaking, Quinn just stands up and follows Santana out the door. Just like always.

* * *

_**(Standing still is hard)** _

Quinn knows that there's a line somewhere that she created. A line that she drew and put into place, but nostalgia is a powerful thing and when she's seated across from Santana in this quaint little diner watching her onetime best friend scarf down enough food to feed a family of four, she can only think about how much she's missed  _this_.

Not the memories, no, or even the time spent alone together. Those things have all come and gone in the years and even though Quinn tried her hardest to hold onto them, they don't really exist anymore beyond a fuzzy recognition of what used to be. Memories fade even if the girl she was back then didn't.

No, it's none of that. She doesn't even want those things anymore, honestly, because they hinder who Quinn is trying to be now. They hinder her because even though the memories are fading and it's been years since her lips have touched Santana's and years since it meant  _something_ , her mind still tries to remember it like it was yesterday. Her mind still tries to make it matter.

She isn't sure if it does or if it did, honestly. She isn't really sure of what happened and what it meant to Santana or what it really even meant to her in the grand scheme of things, but she knows that she's here now, years later when she told herself she wouldn't be. Quinn is sitting across from a girl who stole her heart way before she ever broke it and she can't escape the feeling that she's missed  _it_. She's missed  _this_. Hell, Quinn has missed  _her_.

She's missed being this Quinn with this Santana. She's missed watching Santana, intimately, as she ate her weight in food and pretended that nothing else mattered except for satisfying her belly. She's missed seeing the little smile on Santana's face when she shoves a forkful of food into her mouth that's just  _right_.

Quinn's missed being  _present_ , because that's what this is. It's the present and Quinn has spent so many years since the accident-actually, so many years since Grandma Lucy-not being present. She checked herself out years ago and she knows it, she can't help but know it when Santana shovels more food into her mouth and groans as if it's the best thing she's ever had (because it is the best thing to Santana in this moment).

"You're staring," Santana comments around a mouth full of pancake.

Quinn doesn't look away as her cheeks burn in embarrassment. It doesn't surprise her that Santana's called her out. It only surprises her that Santana didn't do it sooner. "Have you seen yourself eat?" Quinn answers cheekily.

Santana reaches for her cup of water, her pleather jacket inching up enough for Quinn to spot the beginnings of a tattoo. She never noticed it before, she never had time, and now she's curious. Santana follows Quinn's gaze before pulling her arm back. Santana leans back as if she was accepting Quinn's challenge, whatever that may be.

"No, I haven't. But I'm sure if I had the blessed opportunity, I wouldn't be anything but amazed."

Quinn rolls her eyes on reflex, this banter is easy and it's just so purely them. "I'm surprised you can still eat, considering how full of yourself you are."

"I'm surprised you can't eat at all. We're not in high school anymore, Sylvester isn't going to pop out from underneath the table again."

Quinn grimaces at the memory. She points her finger at Santana and Santana's stupid smirk. "First of all, you can't pretend like Coach climbing out from underneath that table at Breadstix wasn't weird or creepy. I still get nervous at restaurants." Quinn ignores Santana's bark of laughter as she continues. "Secondly, I'm not seventeen anymore. As much as I'd like to indulge myself in everything...life requires some restraint."

Santana frowns as if she couldn't understand why anyone would ever need restraint. And that's another problem isn't it? Santana's always been taker. "Please don't tell me you're another one of those counting calories chicks, cause I gots news for you, Lucy Q, we only live once. Why not have what you want all the time?"

"Because I'm not you," Quinn blurts out. Her hands are both on the table now, her body trying to give the impression that she's calm. "I don't diet, I just can't consume every little thing. A girl's gotta watch her figure. We all don't have the metabolism of giant."

"God, you sound like a carbon copy of Judy." Santana freezes as soon as the sentence leaves her mouth. "Shit. I didn't-it's no-"

Quinn smacks her right hand down on the table to cut Santana off. "Its fine, Santana. You wouldn't be yourself if you didn't insult me at least once."

"I don't want to insult you," Santana admits quietly. Santana pushes her plate away guiltily. "I don't want to do that."

"I know," Quinn concedes, because she does know. "But you can't change everything about who you are f-"

"Were," Santana corrects.

Quinn nods. "Okay, who you  _were_. Santana Lopez of the present doth protest too much. Santana Lopez of the past would have insulted the waitress already and asked me if I was up for dining and dashing by now."

Santana scoffs. "You make me sound like a monster."

"Isn't that what you are?" Quinn asks honestly. She means it as a joke at first but by the time the words sneak out of her mouth, she knows she's speaking nothing but the truth. She doesn't mean to let it out, honestly, because there's speaking the truth and then there's intentionally hurting someone. She doesn't want to be the girl who says mean things because she can. She doesn't even mean to be this girl sitting here across from the girl, but Santana has always changed things and this isn't any different.

Santana looks wounded as she grabs her water. The look passes quickly though as Santana takes a sip, and by the time her glass touches the table, there's a new look of determination on her face. "You're right. That is what I am." Santana reaches into her jacket and pulls out some cash before placing forty dollars down on the table. "And today, you're gonna be one too."

It's the nostalgia that makes her accept Santana's hand and it's the memory of that specific glint in Santana's eyes that makes Quinn hold on tighter as Santana pulls her onto her feet and then promptly leads them out the door.

It's everything else that convinces Quinn not to run away.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Quinn asks breathlessly. She's endured Santana's leading for almost an hour now and all they've done is stop at a farmers market. In fact, they were still there and Quinn was being forced to endure Santana's agonizing comparison of all the fresh vegetables. They all appeared to look the same to Quinn, honestly.

"When did it happen?" Santana asks as she puts a red pepper into the basket she was forcing Quinn to carry.

Quinn looks at Santana in confusion. "When did what happen?"

Santana turns so that her whole body is facing Quinn's. "When did you change?"

Quinn's features harden as she tries to pull back up the walls that she hadn't even noticed she had let down. "I don't know, Santana."

"Bullshit."

"Bullshit?!" Quinn screeches. She's aware of how quickly she's gone from zero to sixty, but she can't help it. "The truth is that I  _don't know_  when I changed. It could have been when I was hit by that truck, it could have been when you didn't show up for my grandmother's funeral. Fuck, Santana, it could have been when you were eating me out for the billionth time before skipping back to your stupid boyfriend." At this point, Quinn's fuming. She's waving the basket of vegetables around crazily as she gestures at Santana, as if it would help. Quinn doesn't know what Santana wants from her because they aren't friends. Quinn sighs sadly. "You know what? This was a mistake. I think I should go."

Santana grabs Quinn's arm as she tries to leave. Quinn squirms and tries to pull her arm out of Santana's grasp, but it's to no avail. They must look ridiculous, Quinn thinks, arguing in front of a cilantro stand while tourists were chatting away amicably all around them. "Let go, Santana."

Santana shakes her head 'no'. "Not this time." Santana leans in closely until her lips are inches away from Quinn's right ear. "Not unless you run."

"Run?" Quinn asks. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Santana licks her lips and Quinn almost shivers when Santana's tongue nearly grazes earlobe. "Just  _run_ , Quinn. Just run and I'll fucking follow."

It's a ridiculous idea. That Santana would follow her anywhere, but it's an out that Quinn needs to experience. She's not so good at facing her demons and she can't help but wonder if she'll be better at running away.

So she  _runs_. The accident has made sure that she's not as quick as she used to be, but the good news is that Cheerios had turned her into a sprinter long before that. So when Quinn hears one of the farmers shout after her she just bows her head down low and plows through the crowds quickly until the only thing she could hear was her labored breathing and the beating of her own heart.

She's not sure how long she's been running, only that she runs until she can't anymore and then when she stops and hunches over, Santana is right next to her with her heels in her right hand and a pepper that Quinn must have dropped along the way in the other. Quinn smiles because it's a start, it truly is, and she understands why Santana let her lead this time. She really does.

When Quinn falls to the floor, it's from the laughter that's taken over her body. She's trembling with honest to God laughter because she just stole from a farmers market in broad daylight with a girl she couldn't ever really escape. Santana just convinced her to add another horrible thing to her strange bucket list and Quinn did it and it was just...it was nice.

She hears Santana's laughter from above and chances a glance up at her. Santana's cheeks are red and her shades are off (they have been off since the diner) and there's happiness in her eyes. It's there shining so clearly that Quinn can see it. It's clear from the way Santana glances down at Quinn fondly that Santana can see the same thing etched into Quinn's features.

"That's my girl," Santana says affectionately. Santana sticks her hand out again to help pull Quinn back up. "Come on. There's something I want to show you."

* * *

They ditch the basket somewhere in between fifth and Broadway. The sun is setting and the tourists are out in full stride, so no one really notices when Santana drops the basket down on the curb before crossing the street with the masses. They stop at The Walgreens so that Santana can purchase some sparkling water and grab a plastic bag for the vegetables before heading back out on their way.

Quinn doesn't ask questions this time. She's far too tired from the running so she just follow in silence, her body aching contently. Santana's leading her past all the sights that the tourists usually find all too captivating and continues pushing their way down fifth. Finally, after what feels like forever, Santana leads Quinn over towards the entrance of FAO Schwartz and plops down on the concrete barrier that surrounds the fountain in front of it. Quinn follows Santana's example by sitting down and crossing her feet on the cold concrete, her sore body welcoming the cold.

Santana pulls a cucumber out of the bag and breaks it in half before handing one of the halves to Quinn. Next, Santana pulls out one of the bottles of sparkling water and twists the cap off. She gestures the bottle towards Quinn and gives a quick 'cheers' before taking a long steady gulp.

Quinn looks down at the cucumber in her hand and then back at the entrance of the store. She doesn't understand it but maybe that's the point. All these years, all these memories and supposed changes and Quinn still can't quite decipher any of it. She's stuck in this never end circle of needs and desire and lately they just haven't been matching up.

"It's pretty, right?"

Quinn looks over at Santana and watches as the brunette takes a bite out of her cucumber. "What?"

"Can't you see it?" Santana asks after a beat. Her voice is so earnest that Quinn almost wishes she could see whatever Santana was referring to.

Quinn took a bite of her cucumber, suddenly hit with the pangs of hunger she had been ignoring for the past hour. "No," Quinn says after swallowing. "I've been here like a hundred times before, so I don't understand what I'm supposed to be seeing."

Santana uncrosses her legs and puts her cucumber in her mouth as she leans forward. She shoves Quinn's shoulder until Quinn takes the hint and lowers herself until she's lying completely on her back. Santana lays down so that she's lying down right next to Quinn, her hand settling softly on Quinn's wrist.

Santana grabs the cucumber with her left hand and uses it as she points up. "Just  _look_."

So Quinn does. She looks at the skyscraper that's hovering over her and she looks past the tree branches that are swaying ever so slightly. She looks at the sky and watches as different shades of grey settle all around it. She can see stars, ever so slightly, peeking through the grey and when she really stops searching, she swears that she can almost feel the calm that the sky illuminates. There's a child that's laughing not to far away from them, his excited screams are enough to jolt Quinn with newfound energy. There are tourists all around them that are sighing with amazement at the pure grandness of everything.

It's all so peaceful that Quinn feels like she's intruding. She feels like she's a trespasser in one of Santana's favorite memories. It's too much, Quinn thinks for what must be the hundredth time since the New Year, for her to handle. It's too much for her to try and understand because Santana didn't try and understand for her. Santana  _left_  and expected Quinn to just excuse it because she was showing her all the things that Quinn used to want to see?

No.  _No._  This doesn't change anything. Time doesn't solve heartbreak and excuses don't bring those years back. Apologies don't bring grandmothers back to life and romancing Quinn in the beginning of April doesn't make her forget about all the months and years that Santana chose to not romance her. All the times that Santana chose somebody else.

"You ruined it." Quinn says so quietly that she isn't even sure Santana hears her.

"I know," Santana acknowledges, her fingers tracing smooth circles on Quinn's skin. "I'm trying to fix it."

"You ruined me," Quinn whispers, her voice cracking at the end.

Santana turns on her side so that she's facing Quinn for the second time today. She moves the hand that's holding the cucumber and cautiously places it over Quinn's heart.

It's silly, the sight they represent, but it's also  _everything._

"Can't I fix it?"

Quinn turns her head so that her eyes can look into Santana's. "I don't know."

* * *

She's exhausted by the time Santana decides to head back. Santana offers to walk Quinn home but Quinn isn't ready for Santana to see another part of her, not after all of this. Things aren't better, she's certain of that as she follows Santana down the path that leads towards Santana's apartment. In fact, things almost feel  _worse_.

It's happening, Quinn can feel it, the pillar of all the things she locked up and hid away to never really think about again is crumbling, and it's crumbling fast. She feels like even though she should have seen this coming all along, she feels as if she's only prepared to grasp her bearings, she doesn't feel ready to prepare herself for anything else at all.

When Santana reaches for Quinn's hand minutes later, Quinn lets Santana grasp it and intertwine their fingers. She's not certain why she lets it happen. Quinn doesn't want to give Santana the impression that things are better, that one right day made up for all of the wrong ones, but she's so damn tired and she has no energy left in her to deny Santana this.

And Quinn isn't sure what's worse anymore. The fact that she could never really escape all of  _this_  or the fact that she's not sure what it means anymore.

Or the fact that she was never very sure of any of it.

* * *

She pulls away from Santana about a block away from Santana's apartment because Quinn just isn't ready.

And God, if she only knew what she wasn't really ready for, then maybe all of this would be easier. Except that it isn't, because even though Quinn wants to kiss away the pout that forms on Santana's face when Quinn pulls her hand back, she can't. Even though that's what Quinn wants to do (what she's always wanted to do), she won't, because when she sees Santana she doesn't just see the girl who holds all of the pieces that would make her whole. She also sees the girl who left her behind, who made her feel love and then ripped it away. Quinn sees a girl she doesn't understand even though she always thought she did, and she doesn't know how to get over that.

Quinn doesn't know if she can get over any of it. She could forgive, she thinks, just as long as she never forgets.

* * *

When Quinn gets home, she feels dizzy and immediately curls herself into a ball on her couch. She ignores the buzzing of her phone and let's herself drift off into an uneasy sleep, tears slipping out of the corners of her eyes.

When she wakes up hours later it's to a banging on her front door. She's groggy and the pillow she was resting her head on has chosen to permanently attach itself to her cheek. Quinn peels the fabric off of her face and tries not to grimace at the fact that she so obviously drooled. The pounding only increases as Quinn blinks a few times, hoping that it'll make her vision a little less blurry.

She stands up and immediately groans at how sore her back is. She rests her hand against her lower back and does her best to massage it as the pounding on her door turns more frantic. "Ugh," Quinn grunts. "Just hold on!" She shouts. "I'm co-dammit!" Quinn exclaims as she stubs her right toe on her stupid coffee table. Jesus, when did she even take off her shoes?

"Can you just...hold your fucking horses?" Quinn asks as she unlocks her door. "Some people actually stop after the third knock…" Quinn trails off after she opens the door to reveal a sopping wet Rachel Berry. Quinn looks behind Rachel curiously and then back at the brunette who is so clearly shivering. "Shit. Rach," Quinn greets as she steps to the side to make room for Rachel. "Come in."

Rachel doesn't say anything as she passes Quinn and enters her apartment. Quinn doesn't even have time to properly turn around after locking the door before she's confronted with the whirlwind that is Rachel Berry when she's on a mission.

"We're friends aren't we?" Rachel asks as she paces back and forth across Quinn's living room.

Quinn looks at Rachel as if she's grown another head. "Don't be ridiculous, Rach. Of course we're friends." Quinn points at the closet in her hallway. "Can you please take off your sweater and grab a blanket before you catch a cold?"

Rachel stops pacing and turns until she's facing Quinn. She's wearing one of those ridiculous old sweaters she used to wear in high school over a pair of jeans Quinn didn't even know Rachel owned. Rachel's bangs were stuck to her forehead and she was currently dripping water all over Quinn's floor. Rachel shakes her head and places her hands on her belly. "I need to know, Quinn."

Rachel doesn't give Quinn any time to answer before she's pulling her sweater up over her head and throwing it on Quinn's floor. She does the same thing with the top she's wearing and her flats and her jeans until all of Rachel's clothes are in a wet pile on her floor and Rachel's in nothing but her underwear.

Quinn laughs nervously, her hands playing with the bottom of her blouse. If she wasn't in such a state of nervous shock she probably would have commented on how this was the first time she'd ever really seen Rachel semi-naked. "Am I still dreaming? This whole encounter has quite the ominous tone."

Rachel doesn't laugh at Quinn's poor attempt at a joke. Instead she walks forward slowly, only stopping when she's an arm's length away from Quinn. " _Lucy_  Quinn Fabray."

Quinn's back straightens at the name. It's been years since anyone has called her Lucy and even longer since she's answered to it. She doesn't know how Rachel even knows it considering she never used her given name for any of her school activities or even in the yearbook. As far as anyone knows, she's always been Quinn, and it's startling to hear Rachel call out her past.

"How did you…?" Quinn trails off, because she has no words and she has no control. This is Rachel's conversation, wholeheartedly, so Rachel has to be the one to lead it.

Rachel laughs darkly and the laugh never quite reaches her eyes, even when she tips her head back as if Quinn's just told the greatest joke. Rachel's smiling when she levels her head to look Quinn in the eye. "All of this time and I never even know. I've preached on and on about my so called psychic abilities and I couldn't even see what was right in front of me the whole time."

"What are you talking about?"

Rachel licks her lips, her arms crossing over her chest as if she's suddenly just realized that she's almost naked in Quinn's home. "It was never me, was it?"

"What was never you, Rach?" Quinn asks in exasperation. She's growing tired of the cryptic replies. This isn't Rachel, it isn't like her, and she's had far too much of an exhausting day to deal with any of this properly.

Rachel glares at Quinn as if the answer is obvious. "I wasn't the one that made you leave."

"I already told yo-"

"No." Rachel interrupts. "You took something from me when you left me behind, Quinn, and I've been trying to make sense of it all, you know? I never had real friends, not before you. I had classmates and team members, adversaries, and equals, but all those years I never had  _friends_. I spent all of my free time in the auditorium not just because I wanted to practice, but because I didn't want to be seen eating alone. And then you came along and suddenly I felt like a part of something special." Rachel uncrossed her arms and looked away. "Because being a part of something special, makes you special, doesn't it?"

Quinn doesn't know how to respond. She knows that she has an answer but she doesn't think it's the right one, the one that Rachel really wants to hear, so instead Quinn stays silent and does her best not to press.

When Rachel's eyes meet hers again, there's tears, and Quinn feels like she's royally fucked up.  _Again._  Rachel shakes her head dourly. "It's Santana, isn't it?"

Quinn bristles. "What is?"

Rachel laughs mirthlessly, tears falling unashamedly down her cheeks. " _Everything_."

"Rachel, I don't understand wha-"

She's cut off by the feeling of lips on hers. Warm, soft, wet lips on hers. Her body reacts quicker than her mind. It's caught up in the memory of the last time soft lips touched hers, the last time she was ever kissed so sweetly and so lovingly.

But it's not the same, her mind screams as her body melts. It's  _different_. And it's because it's so different that her body finally catches up with her brain. She places her hands on Rachel's shoulders and gently shoves her until Rachel's lips disconnect from hers with a  _pop_.

Quinn isn't sure what to say, so she just looks at Rachel curiously and watches as the realization of what she's just done dawns on Rachel's face. Rachel raises her hand to her face, horrified, and her fingers shaking from the anxiety of her decision. Rachel takes a few tentative steps backward until there's more space between them.

"Christ." Quinn murmurs when Rachel's tears turn into a full on sob. She reaches out her hand to try and comfort Rachel because even though Quinn's head is spinning, even though she feels like she just betrayed someone who shouldn't even matter right now, Rachel is still Quinn's oldest and purest friend. Quinn cares for her, more than she could ever admit, and she doesn't want to see Rachel crying. Even if it's over Quinn. "Rachel."

"Don't." Rachel warns through tears. Her hand sticking out to stop any further movement from Quinn. "Please don't."

Quinn doesn't know what to do. For the umpteenth time today she's found herself at a loss, at inaction. So she says the only thing she thinks she could. She opens her mouth and says the one thing she always wanted to say, just to a different girl. "Stay."

Rachel's eyes don't meets hers. Instead her gaze is focused solely on the floor. "What?"

"Stay with me tonight. Just stay here, with me. My bed is huge and I have spare clothes." Quinn explains. "Just don't...don't leave me, okay?"

Rachel laughs. As if the very thought of Rachel ever leaving Quinn is completely ludicrous. "And what do you suppose I do...with all of this?" Rachel asks as she places her hand tenderly over her heart.

Quinn winces. "Just let me...dammit." Quinn leaps from the place she's been stuck to since this whole exchange began. She wraps her arms around Rachel so tightly and so quickly that Rachel can only give in and relax in Quinn's arms. Quinn recalls the conversation she had earlier and it hits her how funny all of this is. Santana took something from her all those years ago and maybe, just maybe, Quinn took something from Rachel too without realizing it. "Can I fix it?" Quinn asks. And it's funny for the roles to be switched, for Quinn to be the girl she's been trying to avoid. "Can I fix any of it?"

"I don't know." Rachel replies shakily. "I don't know."


	4. She's Just Another Girl, Don't Let Her Stick It To Your Heart So Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm not going to lie. I'm kind of in love with this story. It's honestly the easiest one to write, currently.
> 
> A/N 2: Please, please, PLEASE read and REVIEW. Reviews are my motivation to keep this thing chugging along. So if you would like to feed my ego/desire to write, please drop a comment. Also, I have a tumblr if you have any questions. Just shoot me something over there. Enjoy!

Quinn's running.

She's not really sure where or why, she just knows that she needs to keep moving. She feels a sense of urgency in her steps that tells her that she needs to get there and that she needs to get there  _soon_  because if she doesn't, God, Quinn doesn't want to know what will happen if she doesn't.

She pushes herself to run faster. To jump over the roots that have grown wildly all over this forest, the mossy green limbs tangling together as if they decided to all join together as one. The unity is nice, it makes Quinn smile even though she knows she doesn't have time for it, because if trees can take the time to work together then she can most definitely take the time to appreciate it.

It's a mistake, she realizes a moment too late, to appreciate anything. Because the moment her gaze tears away from the path in front of her is the moment her foot gets caught in the branches tangles. She tries to catch her balance but it's altogether too much to do too late and before Quinn can really brace herself, she's being thrown forward a few feet and landing ungracefully on her bum.

She lets out an ' _oomph_ ' when her ass meets the cold jungle floor. She tries to scramble her way back up to her feet but it's too late and she knows it, she can  _feel_  it. Still, Quinn tries anyway. She gets up on her feet and starts running again even though her body can sense that whatever she's running towards won't be there anymore.

Quinn's proven right a few minutes later when she quite literally runs into a dead end, or rather, a cliff. She stops about ten feet short of the end not quite ready to make the dive to wherever this cliff leaded. She wants to turn away, honestly, but her body tells her to look  _right_  and her body hasn't been wrong this whole time so Quinn obeys.

When she looks to her right she sees a figure with long, black, wavy hair. She's standing by the edge of the cliff, a photo in her hand and her eyes trained at whatever was below. The girl doesn't move to acknowledge Quinn, she just keeps her gaze forward and her body still. The wind blows in response to their silence. It rustles the girl's clothes and reveals what appears to be a cheerleading uniform underneath the leather jacket that she just now noticed.

Quinn frowns in confusion when the girl's hair starts to move with the wind, because the tan skin and the cheerios uniform makes the girl kind of look like…

_Santana._

Her breath hitches and her eyes start scanning the edge frantically, trying to see if there was any way that she could get to Santana before Santana got to the end. But it was no use, because she was too late.

Quinn reaches her arm out in front of her when Santana takes a step forward. She wants to stop her but her feet won't fucking move, and  _oh no, Santana's taking another step._

"Santana!" Quinn shouts, her feet planted firmly to the ground as branches start to grow over them. She tries to move forward but it's to no avail, so she yells again. "Please!"

Santana doesn't look back. She just lifts one foot into the air and says, "It's too late, Quinn." When Santana falls forward Quinn can't help the scream of pain that gurgles out of her mouth.

"No, no, no." She says through tears, her hands hitting her legs, the ground, and the air. "No, no, no."

She feels an arm wrap around her shoulders and it only serves to make her more distraught. She's shaking now, from the anxiety and from the tears that are flowing freely. The arms wrap her up in an embrace but it doesn't help because the person she really needed, she was too late to save an—

"Quinn, it's okay." She hears a voice whisper into her ear. "You're okay."

Quinn opens her eyes and scans frantically around, her body tangled in the limbs around her and the confusion that was settling around her brain. She wasn't in a jungle, she was in her room on her bed.

Her room in NYC, not some forest.

Quinn looks up from where her head is resting—or whether, from who-and is met with wide open chocolate ones. "Rachel?" She asks cautiously, her heart beat pounding in her arms.

Rachel nods in confirmation and grips Quinn tighter. "You were having a nightmare."

"A nightmare?" Quinn repeats in disbelief. It had all felt so vivid. The anxiety, the trees roots,  _Santana_.

"Yeah," Rachel says softly, her fingers rubbing circles on Quinn's back. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Quinn doesn't, but she isn't sure if she should say that out loud or not. She's trying to let Rachel in, she really is, but some things are just buried too far down. "Do you?"

Rachel hesitates, as if she knows that they're at the line right now and that anything else would be pushing the moment too far into a territory that neither of them can handle. "Let's just go back to sleep."

"Okay." Quinn agrees. She settles her head back on Rachel's chest and lets Rachel continue to rub circles all over her skin. She doesn't comment on Rachel's affection or even on the fact that Rachel falls back asleep quickly whilst Quinn continues to lay there, staring out into the dark.

It's all so ridiculous now that she knows it's a dream. It's just strange that some moments can feel so much realer than others and can cause so much more pain. Perhaps that's always been her problem.

* * *

When Quinn wakes up hours later and throws her arm out to the right, she's met with nothing but empty space. She bolts up then, her eyes still blurry and her mind still foggy from sleep. She looks at the clock and almost has a panic attack when she realizes that she slept past her first class.

She doesn't understand how she missed her alarm considering that thing could wake a bear in its early stages of hibernation. It doesn't matter how or why, honestly, just that she's going to have to scramble if she wants to make it in time for her Lit class.

Quinn throws back the blankets, pulls her tank top up over her head and slips out of her shorts while walking towards her bathroom, her body trying to keep up with her brain.

It's not until she's dressed in a blue polka dotted sundress, and freshly showered, that she realizes she forgot about Rachel.  _Gosh_ ,  _how is she always forgetting about Rachel?_

She walks back over towards her bed for some sort of clue that last night wasn't just another notch in a long list of weird ass freaking dreams. She can't help but huff to herself when she's met with only empty space for the second time since she's woken up. Quinn knows she couldn't have been dreaming, last night felt too real and too large to just be a figment of her wild imagination.

Still, she knows how much Rachel puts into moments like these and Quinn doesn't believe for one second that Rachel would just disappear without wanting to talk about  _it_  first. Quinn sighs and steps away from her bed, her mind already dismissing her overactive imagination. She reaches for her side bag and her coat that she usually leaves by her dresser and opens her bedroom door, not really sure if she had closed it last night or not.

Quinn shakes her head. She needs some food in her system before she could start comprehending what was real and what wasn't. She walks through her small hallway and peeks into her living room just to make sure nothing was in disarray. She smiles softly when she's met with the familiar sight of a pristine living room.

She heads over towards her kitchen, her mind set on grabbing a Naked fruit juice since she clearly didn't have time for breakfast, when her eye catches the blinking light of her phone. She turns to the right abruptly and stares at her kitchen counter, a part of her surprised and a bigger part of her just curious as to how her phone ended up all the way over here.

She dismisses her plan for the juice immediately and instead heads over towards her phone, her hand reaching out for it hesitantly. When she's close enough to grab it, Quinn notices that there's a piece of paper folded neatly underneath it. Quinn hastily shoves her phone into her bag before reaching for the note. As she unfolds it, she's met with a strange sort of panic that only ever accompanies the unknown.

It doesn't take her long to unfold the paper, or even that long to read it. Her heart drops, anyway, because she doesn't know what any of it means. She thought she was confused before when she was sixteen and all alone, but the truth is that she feels just as confused and just as alone years later, as an adult.

Quinn sighs and leans her body into her counter, her heart itching with tenderness that she didn't ever think she'd feel again. She looks back over the note and does her best not to feel bad, but it's hard, because Quinn feels guilty. She's just not certain for what.

_Quinn,_

_I had to leave early this morning for rehearsal, otherwise I would have stayed until you had woken up. You seemed…so peaceful, finally, so I took your phone and shut off your alarm because I didn't want it to wake you._

_I don't want to wake you from anything peaceful, ever._

_Thank you for not pressuring me into talking. You're a good friend. My hope is that we can settle this, soon, but until then all I can say is take care._

_All my love,_

_Rachel._

_P.S. You snore. LOUDLY._

Quinn tries not to laugh at Rachel's blatant honestly—once the shock of realization that last night  _did_  happen wears off—but she fails miserably when her eyes scan the note for the third time. She loves Rachel, she really does, but it's all wrong.

It all feels so wrong.

She can't handle it (or maybe she just doesn't want to) and quickly the decision to go to her class disappears and is replaced by a new one. She fishes through her bag until she grabs her phone. She unlocks it and ignores all the messages and the missed calls from Frannie. She makes a mental note to check in with her sister later, and continues to scroll through her phone until she finds the number that she couldn't quite delete.

She swipes at her phone and puts it to her ear as it starts to call the number. She feels a strangely pleased when Santana answers on the second ring, with a slightly disoriented, "Hello? Quinn?"

Quinn can't help the smile that overtakes her face at Santana's voice. She doesn't know why Santana's voice is soothing, or why it's ever been comforting in her most unsettling moments. She only knows that it does.

"What are you doing right now?" Quinn asks, trying to appear nonchalant. As if any part of this conversation is normal or a form of habit.

Santana clears her throat. "Honestly?"

"Honestly," Quinn answers.

"Well, I'm getting ready to smoke some pot since I don't have work today. Perhaps eat a massive amount of Berry's gluten free muffins, and then I'll probably go hide Kurt's boyfriend pillow again because it's almost _too_  good when he flips out."

Quinn doesn't say anything, just lets the realization that this is totally happening wash over her. She's here, almost four years later, and she's totally about to do this.

_She feels crazy, is she crazy?_

"Quinn?" Santana asks, her voice worried.

Quinn decides to bite the metaphorical bullet and lets out a long sigh. "How about you come over to my place instead?"

"What? I—sure. I mean, yes." Santana stutters out, and it's so unlike her that Quinn feels like she might have made the wrong decision.

 _Still_ , it's too late to go back now. "Okay. I'll send you the address." She hears some commotion on the other end and just ignores it. "And Santana?"

"Yes?"

"Don't forget the pot."

"Okay," Santana says, releasing a long breath. "Okay."

* * *

It's almost funny when Santana shows up on her doorstep thirty minutes after Quinn sent her the address, her eyes red and her lungs terribly out of breath. She's wearing another ridiculous dress, this time it's black with blue stripes all over it. She has on flats, however, and it's a welcome change because now they're almost eye level. She's wearing her ridiculous leather jacket even though it's hot as heck outside and her hair is pulled up in a sloppy ponytail.

She's beautiful, Quinn thinks, even when Santana wants to pretend like she's not trying to be. "Did you run here?" Quinn chides, her lips quirked into a smile.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Maybe. I didn't want to give you a chance to retract the invitation."

Quinn nods and steps back so that Santana can walk into her apartment. "Well, welcome to my humble abode."

"It's…" Santana trails off while trying to take everything in. She meets Quinn's gaze a few minutes later. "Remarkably plain."

Quinn laughs and shuts the door, making sure to slide off her flats before leading Santana into the living room. "At least I know I can always count on your blunt honesty."

"Hey, I'm just using what my momma gave me," Santana jokes, her eyebrows wiggling.

"So." Quinn says into the empty air, her head nodding awkwardly.

"So," Santana repeats, her hands digging into her leather jacket until she pulls out a pipe and a baggie of what Quinn can only assume is weed. "You ready to get super baked on this fine morning?"

"I couldn't think of any other morning I'd rather get super baked on." Quinn replies, choosing to ignore how true that statement was.

"Good. Let's get this show on the road!"

* * *

They're lying on her living room floor a few hours later. A bottle of Quinn's leftover vodka is situated between them, the lid long gone. Santana is loading up her pipe for what has to be the ninth time since she arrived, except she's a lot drunker now and super high, so she can't seem to grip the pipe properly and ends up having to sit up to get a better grasp on everything.

Quinn follows Santana's example and sits up, because  _really_ , when hasn't she followed Santana. She reaches for the bottle that's in-between them and raises it to her lips when Santana finally gets some more weed into the pipe.

"You want a hit?" Santana asks, trying to be kind by offering Quinn the first taste.

Quinn shakes her head 'no'. "After you."

Santana shrugs and raises the pipe to her mouth, her left hand grabbing her lighter. She switches it a few times until the fire hits the pipe and then Santana just closes her eyes and inhales, like there's nothing else that could possibly matter except for this.

Quinn wishes that all moments were like this. She wishes that all moments were as easy as closing your eyes and inhaling.

She takes a swig of the vodka then and does her best not to choke on the reality of it.

Santana opens her eyes a few minutes later, except now they're all droopy and the smile that pulls across her face is almost lazy. "You know what would be great right now?"

Love. Quinn wants to say. Friendship. Memories that weren't wrapped up in excuses and heartbreak. "What?"

"Brownies," Santana answers with a wide grin. "Always brownies."

* * *

They forsake the plan to make brownies forty-five minutes later when they both mutually decide it'll take too long and that they're starving _now_. So they take the batter that they already prepared and grab a giant wooden spoon before heading over towards Quinn's couch.

Santana plops down ungracefully and shoots Quinn a grimace when Quinn settles down softly right next to her.

"What?" Quinn asks.

Santana frowns again. "This couch is really uncomfortable."

Quinn laughs then, because it's absolutely true. "I know. I've just been too lazy to buy a new one."

Santana shifts around as if she's trying to settle her weight into the cushions. "I slept on a couch for almost a year and that piece of shit was loads more comfortable than this thing. Where did you get it from? Ikea? Ikea  _would_  set you up to be uncomfortable for the rest of your life."

Quinn looks at Santana curiously. "What's so bad about Ikea?"

"Oh, nothing," Santana says sarcastically. "Just the itty bitty fact that they're slowly taking over the world. Nothing to be concerned about though."

Quinn shoots Santana an amused stare because a high and slightly drunken Santana apparently turns into a very paranoid Santana. "You're silly." Quinn puts the wooden spoon into her bowl of batter and turns to her right so that she can face Santana. Santana in turn, does the same, and tries (as well as fails) to not stare at the batter hungrily. Quinn lifts the spoon up to her mouth and takes a bite, an involuntary groan escaping from in-between her lips. "Oh my god, you're a genius. How could something so simple taste so good?"

Santana nods her head knowingly. "I just happen to have all types of knowledge in this noggin of mine…" Santana trails off when Quinn shoves another spoonful into her mouth. "Can you like, share?"

Quinn laughs and sticks the wooden spoon back into the bowl so that she can grab another scoop. She lifts the spoon and waves it in front of Santana's mouth, encouraging her to take a bite. Santana leans forward, her eyes still trapped on Quinn's, and slowly opens her mouth until she could take a bit of batter. Santana moans and licks her lips, and it shouldn't be this sexy, brownie batter should never be this sexy, but Quinn can't stop herself from shivering in anticipation and arousal anyway.

Quinn puts the spoon back into the batter and sets it on her makeshift coffee table, her attention turning back towards Santana. "Can I ask you a question?"

Santana smiles at Quinn lazily. "You can ask me many."

"Why didn't you show up?"

Santana freezes, her eyes narrowing in alert. "I…" Santana breaks eye contact and looks around Quinn's living room before her eyes settle back onto Quinn's. "I can't explain it right now."

Quinn huffs in frustration and moves to stand up. "Of course you can't."

"No, wait." Santana defends, her hand latching onto Quinn's arm to keep her from moving. "I  _want_ to tell you. I just want to have this conversation when we're both sober enough to remember it, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Quinn dismisses. Santana doesn't let go though and it's getting stranger and stranger for Quinn, and harder and harder for her to understand how people just aren't letting go anymore. "Why Rachel?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you live with Rachel?" Quinn clarifies. "I mean, you could have lived with Brittany."

Santana shrugs then, and licks her lips nervously. "Honestly?"

"Honestly," Quinn repeats for the second time that day.

"I knew she was my best shot." Santana answers, before continuing as an afterthought. "Plus, Rachel Berry is like a puppy. She just wants to love everyone and I knew she wouldn't say no."

"She was your best shot at what?"

Santana lets go of her arm then and looks away. She clears her throat and settles her hands into her lap. "She was my best shot at finding you again."

It's too much, Quinn thinks, to feel these emotions all over again. It's too much for her heart to swoon all over again. As if she was a teenager and they were sitting next to that pool again. It's just too much to bear, so Quinn tries to change the subject before all of it overwhelms her. "Don't you have plans to, like, be awesome and stuff today?"

"Something like that," Santana says with a laugh, before finding Quinn's gaze again. "But I'll always drop everything for you."

It's such a different statement from the girl that couldn't be bothered to drop anything for her all those years ago, that Quinn almost feels like she has whiplash. Her skin tingles fondly at the sentiment, though, and Quinn feels like maybe she made a huge mistake. She was ill equipped to handle Santana sober and now? Well, now she was just ill equipped. Because her mind is telling her one thing but her heart is telling her another and because she's so out of it, her heart wins.

She doesn't give herself time to think before she gets up and straddles Santana, her arms settling on Santana's shoulders. Santana looks at Quinn bewilderedly and her hands don't move from the couch, they just stay still.

"Quinn? What are you doing?"

Quinn doesn't want questions right now, hell she doesn't want answers either. She just wants to recreate  _this_  if only for a moment, because it was the thing that made the most sense back then and Quinn thinks that if she can feel it now, maybe everything else will make sense now too. She leans forward and captures Santana's lips in a sloppy kiss. Santana is wearing strawberry lip gloss and when Quinn's tongue pushes past Santana's teeth, she's met with the taste of brownie mix and vodka. She wants to groan but she doesn't get the chance to because Santana shoves her away lightly until Quinn's lips separate from hers.

Santana's eyes search Quinn's questioningly. "What are you doing?"

Quinn shakes her head and leans forward again. "Just shut up and kiss me."

This time when Quinn's lips settle against Santana's, Santana doesn't protest. She just opens her mouth wider so that Quinn can shove her tongue further. It's not magic, Quinn thinks, or fireworks like Finn had told her once all those years ago, and it's definitely not perfect.

What it is  _right_. Even in this moment when Quinn knows they shouldn't be doing this, that they should be discussing things and working on their so-called friendship, even now Quinn feels like it's right. Her lips push against Santana's sloppily, but it's perfect the way that they meld together. It's perfect and fitting how Santana's hands settle softly on Quinn's lower back, pushing her against Santana ever so lightly. It's just all so right that Quinn wants more.

She needs more.

She pulls her mouth away from Santana's and is met with a dark, heady gaze. It only spurs Quinn on as she leans forward to kiss a path down Santana's collarbone. Quinn stops momentarily to suck on the end of Santana's neck, and when she hears a sharp intake of breath at her action, Quinn does it again, moisture starting to collect in-between her thighs.

She feels hot, so hot, and she thinks that maybe pulling away will help her cool down a bit. But when she removes her lips from Santana's neck, Santana surges forward and captures Quinn's lips in a long kiss.

It's beautiful, the way they move together, as if they've always known the perfect way to do this.

Quinn doesn't think she can help it, the way whimpers escape from her mouth every time they separate or how her heart is beating so quickly that she's sure it's not healthy.

So she doesn't.

She reaches around and grabs Santana's right hand, as Santana moves her lips away from Quinn's and instead starts to nuzzle Quinn's neck. Quinn grasps Santana's hand in her own and pulls it until its settled in-between their bodies. She moves her head away until she can recapture Santana's lips again and is rewarded with a moan when her teeth gently nip at Santana's bottom lip.

Quinn pulls Santana's hand down and slips it underneath her dress. She pushes Santana's fingers into her underwear to show Santana just how much she wants this right now. When she pulls away this time, Santana doesn't appear as though she'll protest, she just stares up at Quinn as if she's the end all be all of her world.

Maybe that's what spurs Quinn on. Maybe it's the pot and the liquor and the memories. Maybe it's the fact that Rachel was here last night and Quinn isn't sure she still has her best friend, or that she ever did for that matter. She doesn't know what takes control of her, she only knows that she looks Santana dead in the eyes and says, "Just fuck me already"

The great thing about Santana is that she's rarely ever needed to be told twice. Santana started to kiss her again as her fingers brushed Quinn's underwear aside and pushed inside of her. Quinn accidentally bites Santana's lip in surprise, because even though she knew it was coming, it was still a surprise to be feeling all of this all over again.

Santana pulls back and runs her tongue over where Quinn had just bit her, her fingers thrusting into Quinn again as Santana watched her reaction. Quinn couldn't help it, she started rocking forward and placed her forward on Santana's shoulder, her lower half grinding against Santana's fingers. Quinn wraps one hand in Santana's hair and tries to ignore the desperate sounds that are escaping out of her mouth. She doesn't want to be vulnerable Quinn, she just wants to be Quinn.

Santana's breath is hot and sticky in her ear and Quinn does her best to not listen when Santana starts making sounds that are just as desperate. She knows Quinn so well that it's scary when her thumb settles down to brush past her clit, because Santana  _would_  know that Quinn would be so close already. She would be able to read Quinn's body like a fucking map.

Quinn just holds onto Santana tighter as Santana continues to thrust into her, her fingers moving up and down quickly. Quinn knows she's close, she can feel it in the way that her shoulders tense and how her eyes close desperately, as if she wants to do everything she can to hold onto this moment.

It doesn't take much more, just Quinn pushing her hips into Santana's hand when Santana decides to add a third finger into the mix, and before she knows it Quinn is unraveling. It's momentous, the waves that crash over her, giving her a euphoria she hasn't felt since she was a teenager. This time she does clench and hold onto Santana's fingers, her body refusing to let go. She's holding on to Santana like she's a life raft while repeating, "Oh god, oh god, oh god" in synchronization with her hip thrusts.

Santana doesn't push her, just puts her lips closer to Quinn's as Quinn tries to ride out her high and says, "I love you, Quinn Fabray. I fucking love you."

It's the last thing Quinn hears before she passes out.

* * *

When she comes to hours later, she has a monster of a headache and someone is kissing her forehead tenderly. She barely makes out the sentences, "Fuck, I know I'm late" and "I just want to be here when she wakes up, Brit" and "Fine, I'm on my way" before she feels a warm body pull away from her.

Quinn doesn't open her eyes when warm lips meet her forehead again. She just steadies her breathing and let's herself fall back into a weird sort of sleep. The kind of sleep that accompanies having too much alcohol.

She doesn't dream for the rest of the night and when she wakes up the next day, her back aching and her body feeling like jelly, Quinn can't decide if she's just made a huge mistake or not.


	5. PART 4B (AN INTERMISSION)  (Don't Stop Believing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well...Let me know what you think. I had original plans for this story but as I kept writing and fleshing out the characters, this story has taken a bit of a detour and now I can't help but write Rachel Berry, haha, cause love is a tricky thing. We don't always want to fall in love with people and sometimes we fall more in love with an idea of them. Anywho, yes, this story will still end with Quinntana. I'm just curious to know who everyone thinks is a better match for Quinn. Rachel or Santana? The person who holds her on a pedestal or the person who never did? Sound off!
> 
> A/N2: This chapter might seem choppier than usual. I wanted it to be that way. Consider it a highlight reel of sorts.

**(This is how** _**it** _ **works.)**

The first time Rachel Berry sees Quinn Fabray, it's right after sixth period during her Sophomore year, and Rachel is strangely captivated.

She's on her way to Glee because tardiness is not something she appreciates, nor is it something she wants to exemplify. She's set on being the prime example of what a good member (and student) looks like, which is why she always shows up a few minutes earlier than everyone else. Rachel doesn't enjoy wasting her time partaking in the social atmosphere of the halls. She's  _going_ to be a star and she doesn't have time to idly sit by and "chill" when she could be working in ways to further her abilities.

Anyway, she's sidestepping a rather large football player and trying to avoid getting spotted by one Sue Sylvester-who is clearly insane-when she catches the current head Cheerio in a weird frame of light.

Everyone knows about Quinn Fabray-and Santana Lopez- even if they don't want to. Even though Rachel isn't one to partake in the gossip that makes its rounds at McKinley, she isn't against overhearing it while rehearsing in the choir room. She knows everyone is fascinated with both Cheerios because of how perfect they've always seemed to be.

Rachel doesn't indulge in such nonsense, she knows it's their beauty that really captivates everyone. And their unattainability.

So, Quinn Fabray is standing by the steps underneath the window laughing at something ridiculous that the chauvinistic boy with the mohawk is telling her and the sunlight is shining around her face giving her some sort of weird halo, and Rachel just  _stops_  to stare.

She's not quite sure if it's because she's in awe or if it's because she's jealous. All she knows is that Quinn Fabray certainly looks like an angel and even though Rachel is Jewish, she feels like she can't help but believe that Quinn  _is_  an angel.

Especially when Quinn catches her staring and instead of shooting her another insult just like everyone else-just like Santana- Quinn just gives her a soft smile and says, "Hi Rachel," before passing by with a fleet of wannabe cheerios who always pop up out of nowhere.

Rachel stares at Quinn's back, dumbfounded, because she wasn't aware that Quinn even recognized her. Let alone knew her name.

Rachel doesn't quite know what's happened because she feels so thrown for a loop, but for the first time in all of her academic years, Rachel shows up five minutes late to class.

* * *

Rachel wants to say that that's when it started but she knows that would be a lie.

It started way before that, actually. When the social hierarchy deemed Rachel a loser and Quinn Fabray a winner. She knows it's useless to want for something so artificial, but every time she catches sight of Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez and their hordes of followers, Rachel can't help the overwhelming desire to want to be like them.

Pretty. Popular. Wanted.

That moment in the hallway just set everything into motion. She changes her style that year and manages to shorten all of the hems on her skirts by at least a few inches. She stops wearing the sweaters that her fathers have made for her since she seven, at least as frequently, and trades them in for outfits that she's only before seen in Yentl and Funny Girl.

It doesn't work because the only one that truly notices is Finn Hudson, the oaf from her math class who forgot how to cross multiply fractions, but Rachel braves on anyway. She continues to watch Quinn from afar hoping that maybe one day she'd finally figure out what was it about Quinn that made her just so darn special.

* * *

It turns into a hobby, if one could call it that, before the end of her Junior year. Rachel doesn't mean to but she starts basing her decisions off of what she thinks Quinn Fabray will say. Or like. Or even admire.

Perhaps it's more of a fascination. Or maybe even a desire to be just be a little like Quinn. To be anything like the girl that everyone wants and everyone seems to need.

Whatever it is, Rachel's basically been her number one fan since the moment Quinn said her name in that hallway. At first she started listening for information without really knowing it, but soon she was harboring little tidbits here and there because she was searching for information. Rachel can't really explain it, she just knows that she has this inner desire to  _know_ the girl. So Rachel searches and pries and picks up whatever she can.

She knows that Quinn spends every Saturday at the old folks home and every Sunday volunteering at the local pound. She knows that Santana Lopez has been her best friend for as long as Quinn has known her and that she somehow manages straight A's while being the captain of the cheerios and the head of the celibacy club.

Word on the street is that Quinn isn't really into that last one, she's only doing it because her older sister did. But that's just idle gossip.

It seems creepy, Rachel thinks sometimes, but she can't help the fascination she holds, and she wonders that if things had been a little different maybe she'd be the one everyone was fawning over and Quinn would be the nobody eating lunch alone.

* * *

The summer before Senior year is what puts everything into motion. Perhaps that's the moment it  _really_  started. She's running some errands for her fathers with her newly obtained license -hoorah!- on a hot day in the middle of July. She's wearing a tank top and shorts because this heat dictates no real fashion, just clothes that you can stay cool in, and is reversing out of the parking lot of the local grocery store when someone rear ends her.

Rachel flies into a panic before she can even help herself and is out of her father's car in a flash, her sunglasses left on the passenger seat completely forgotten. Her hands are shaking as she ID's the scratch and strangely enough, she only feels like crying, not like being angry.

Rachel puts her trembling fingers to her temple and tries to think of a way this won't end badly. Her fathers will kill her, she won't be allowed to drive anymore, they'll take away her myspace privileges! Her life will be in ruins. And honestly, she can really only imagine horrible scenarios when she feels a warm hand gently touch her shoulder.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! My friend Santana decided that now was the best time to show me that two girls, one cup video and I couldn't help but freak out because  _gross,_  and I didn't even see you until it was too late. I'm so sorry about this, really!"

Rachel turns around with sharp words on her tongue and heat steaming from the top of her head, but is completely silenced when her brown eyes meet hazel. She doesn't mean to stand there speechless while THE Quinn Fabray stares at her, a soft smile on her face. She means to say something witty, something memorable-but honestly, what do pretty girls even do during their day? Is there anything that actually stands out or do they just spend their whole day being pretty?- but instead she opens her mouth and grunts out an unattractive, "Shello." She snaps her right hand over her mouth in embarrassment and wishes that Quinn will assume that the pink tint coloring her cheeks was from the heat and not from embarrassment. When Quinn smiles softly in return, Rachel unclasps her hand and waves meekly. "I couldn't decide between Shalom and h-"

"Hello," Quinn answers with another smile. "I figured."

Rachel is about to respond in kind when a blurry figure behind Quinn catches her eye. She looks over Quinn's shoulder and can make barely out an overenthusiastic Santana waving at Rachel from Quinn's car, and it suddenly feels like too much. Her legs give out without warning and Quinn lurches forward to try and balance Rachel before her head makes contact with her daddy's car.

Quinn latches on to Rachel's waist before Rachel's body hits the car, and helps lower her to the ground so that she's sitting uncomfortably on the gravel. Rachel looks up at Quinn's concerned face and feels weak all over again.

"You have extremely quick reflexes," Rachel murmurs feebly, her eyes closing against her will.

She hears Quinn laugh before she feels a body sit down next to her. "You have to be quick if you want to survive the world of Sue Sylvester."

"She's crazy."

Quinn laughs again and Rachel feels her fingers tingle in some sort of anticipation. "You're not wrong, Rachel.

Rachel's eyes fly open at the use of her name. She jerks to the side and stares at Quinn questioningly. "You know my name?"

Quinn raises her right eyebrow curiously. "Is there a reason why I wouldn't?"

"You're just...Quinn Fabray," Rachel says honestly, with a flip of her hands. "And I'm just Rachel Berry. Our paths rarely cross."

Quinn looks away and pulls the sunglasses that were sitting on the top of her head over her eyes. "Well,  _just_ Rachel Berry. We crossed paths today, didn't we?"

Rachel's heart swells at Quinn's answer because it isn't a dismissal. Not like she's used to hearing from the girls on Sue's squad. If anything, Quinn  _is_  different and Rachel means to tells her that when she feels a bottle cap hit her in the cheek. She looks up to see an aggravated Santana Lopez with her arms crossed over her chest and one flip-flopped foot out of the car. "Hey! Chatty Kathy's over there! Have you both forgotten that we're in the middle of a parking lot and your little friendly rendezvous is fucking blocking traffic?"

Rachel licks her lips and looks over to Quinn who just chuckles at Santana's antics. It's a weird friendship, Rachel thinks, but at least it's a friendship. Quinn grabs Rachel's hand before Rachel can properly grasp her bearings and pulls out a pen from her back pocket. She writes a number on Rachel's hand while Rachel tries not to notice how strangely soft Quinn's skin is and just how unlike everyone else in this town Quinn truly is.

Just like Rachel. Or maybe not like Rachel, Rachel thinks with a frown, because they clearly posses differences. Either way, they're both very different peas from this pod that people call home (that Rachel only calls Ohio) and Rachel can't help but feel a sort of camaraderie well up within her.

Quinn stands up and stretches out her hand until Rachel grasps it, and then helps pull Rachel up into a standing position. "I have to go before Santana starts going all Lima Heights Adjacent over there," Quinn says with a jerk of her head. "But you have my cell number. Call me later today and we can have Santana's uncle fix that scratch before your parents ever see it. He owns the auto shop at the end of the road."

"Thank you," Rachel calls out at Quinn's retreating from. Not quite sure if there is anything else she could really say.

"Don't thank me yet," Quinn shouts over her shoulder. "Thank me when I actually deserve it."

If Rachel could look back on her life and pick the exact moment that she knew she would be hopelessly devoted to Quinn Fabray, in every essence she could handle, it would be probably be that one.

* * *

Rachel doesn't wait very long to call Quinn after that, a part of her wondering if it was some cruel joke and the other part curious to see if Quinn would actually keep her word.

Quinn does indeed keep her word and she even convinces Santana's uncle to do the work free of charge. It's the largest gift Rachel has ever received from someone who wasn't family and even though Quinn did it because she was the one who put the scratch on the car in the first place, Rachel still can't help but feel eternally grateful.

She makes it her mission to somehow return the favor and as a result, is there every single time Quinn needs her throughout the year.

It turns out that Quinn isn't just a good person, she's also a good friend when she wants to be. She listens to Rachel's concerns and her dreams and she comments on how Rachel is destined to make it out of this god forsaken place. In return, Rachel listens to Quinn's fears about Frannie and she tries not to pry when she starts noticing how Quinn is spending less time with Santana and more time with her.

She's there for Rachel's audition and even does her best to quell Rachel's nerves and shaky hands. When Rachel absolutely blows her audition out of the water-in a way that can only be great, Quinn is there with warm words and an even warmer smile.

Rachel hugs Quinn then, a forceful friendly, all encompassing hug. That's full of so much gratitude and affection and general thankfulness that Quinn stuck around long enough to be her sort-of friend, that she's pretty sure she suffocates Quinn a little bit with all of it.

Rachel pulls away embarrassed and tries not to seem like she just hugged the crap out of Quinn Fabray. Quinn gives Rachel an affectionate pat on the shoulder and leans in so closely that Rachel can smell the cinnamon on Quinn's breath and the citrus of her perfume.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing. I just like giving warm hugs." Rachel says with a dismissive shrug, but she knows that what she really meant to say was  _thank you for everything._

* * *

It all starts coming to a head one Tuesday afternoon, a couple of months before Quinn's grandmother dies.

It's a typical Tuesday, honestly. At least, it is for Lima. The sun is shining and the majority of the kids are lying around their pool trying to get a tan. Rachel has more important things to do. Like sit around anxiously waiting for her acceptance letter to the college of her choice. She knows that she's a nervous wreck. She can't eat and she can barely stand without pacing because  _everyone_ has gotten letters so far-except for her-and Rachel doesn't want to think about what that means.

She ignores the text tone that alerts her to an incoming message and tries not to sigh when she hears it quickly go off again. She reaches for her phone and tries not to get excited when her eyes spot Quinn's name.

_Stop panicking and come over. I told my mom I was going to have a friend come by and get in the pool. Do you want me to look like a liar?_

It's the first time Quinn actually refers to Rachel as her friend and not as her classmate to her mother Judy and Rachel tries not to let her heart swell at the words. She shrugs and types out a response, knowing that she could really use the distraction.

_Okay. Be there in fifteen._

* * *

When Rachel arrives exactly fifteen minutes later-prompt, as always-she's surprised when it's Judy that opens the door, a wine glass half full and in her her right hand. She gives Judy a smile and tries not to wrinkle her nose when Judy pulls her in for a rough hug. Judy smells like wine, lots of it, and even though Rachel has always known that Judy is a pretty social drinker, it still surprises her to see her  _this_  tipsy at four in the afternoon.

When Judy doesn't let go, Rachel untangles herself from Judy's grip and slips into the house, a huge smile on her face. "Is Quinn outside?"

Judy shuts the door behind Rachel and takes a long sip from her glass. "She's on the phone with her grandmother."

"Oh, that's sweet," Rachel comments absentmindedly. She honestly believes that it is sweet of Quinn to try and keep contact with a woman who's been put in a home. She doesn't know much aside from that. Quinn doesn't really like to talk about it and Rachel doesn't want to pry on such a sore subject.

"It's pointless."

Rachel freezes and looks at Judy in confusion. "Um, what?"

Judy shrugs and gulps down the rest of her wine. "My  _mother_  doesn't even remember what year it is, let alone her granddaughter. Quinnie is putting too many eggs in this basket."

"Uh," Rachel starts while glancing around anxiously for Quinn. "I'm sure that's not quite the case. I mean I don't know much about it but...are you sure you should be talking to me about this, Judy? I mean...perhaps this is a topic more suited for Quinn."

Judy waves her hand at Rachel dismissively. "Quinnie has always held onto things a little too strongly. She doesn't know how to let go, you know? But I know better. I  _know_  where this is he-"

" _Mom."_ Rachel jerks her head sideways in time to catch Quinn glare at Judy sternly. "We'll be outside. Please don't...interrupt." Quinn reaches for Rachel's hand and tugs on it gently. Rachel follows without protest, her eyes trying not to look at Judy's sad ones.

As soon as Quinn closes the patio door behind them, Rachel forces her into a hard hug. She breathes in the scent of Quinn's hair and thinks that, yes, she really would do anything for this girl. For this odd friendship, for this affection that's brewing deep inside her.

"What was that for?" Quinn asks when Rachel finally pulls away.

"Nothing, I just missed you." Rachel says, but she knows that what she really meant to say was  _I'll always remember you._

* * *

When Quinn's grandmother dies, Rachel waits by her phone anxiously all day.

Quinn doesn't call.

Quinn doesn't call weeks later when she goes to the funeral, either. Rachel tries to be patient. She's never had much experience with a loss of that magnitude, so she tries to be patient after sending Quinn a simple text letting her know that Rachel was there if Quinn needed her.

She doesn't know why she doesn't push, or why Rachel never pushes in areas like this. Maybe it's the fear of being that girl from Sophomore year again. Maybe it's because she's terrified that this friendship they've built tentatively will come tumbling down. All Rachel knows is that she stays silent during this period, the memory of Judy's cold gaze and Quinn's sad eyes replaying over and over again.

Quinn stays silent.

And so does Rachel.

* * *

She's cooking vegan lasagna when her phone rings  _weeks_  later.

She answers right away because she hopes that it's Quinn.

She drops everything she's doing and rushes out the door with one shoe on because it isn't.

* * *

When Rachel arrives at the hospital, she's the only one there. Russell had convinced Judy to go home and bathe-or at least that's what Rachel assumes-and they had passed by Rachel in a rush when she was entering the hospital.

There's nobody around. There's no hordes of followers or Sue Sylvester. But worst of all, there's no Santana. She has to ask this nurse-who acts like Rachel is ruining her day instead of the other way around-which direction to go in because she didn't really listen to Judy's breathless voice earlier. Rachel sort-of just acted on impulse.

Nothing prepared her for that call and nothing prepares her for the sight of pale skin tainted by blue and purple bruises. Rachel doesn't mean to gasp, she doesn't even mean to cry, she just _does_.

Her hands are all over Quinn before she can think better of it and she silently thanks the empty room that no one else can see either of them like  _this_. Rachel presses her fingers into the iv's in Quinn's wrist and then pushes her fingers into the hard bones in Quinn's hands, looking for softness in between all of the empty spaces, and only finding more bones. She gingerly traces the gauze that's covering Quinn's clavicle next before she anxiously places the palm of her hand over Quinn's heart.

Rachel knows better. She knows that there's machines all around her basically screaming that Quinn will be okay, that she's alive and that it's  _not_  Rachel's fault-because Rachel Berry is many things, but a life saver she is not- that it wouldn't have mattered if Rachel had called Quinn or not, but Rachel doesn't believe any of it.

She needs solid proof, something she could get her hands on. So when her palm settles over the solid beating of Quinn's heart, Rachel breathes a soft sigh of relief.

"I'm glad that you're alive," Rachel says out loud to the silent room, because it's clear that Quinn isn't okay-but she's breathing, so that counts for something- even though she knows that what she really meant to say is _please don't leave me._

* * *

Rachel spends the majority of the summer in that hospital room instead of shopping for her college attire. Her father's only look on concerned when she turns down shopping trip after shopping trip in favor of Quinn's monitored heart beat. She spends so much time in the damn visiting room and hospital room and that disgusting cafeteria, and not nearly enough going through all the guidelines of NYADA, that she ends up missing the deadline for dorm assignments completely.

She's worried about her future but she's more worried about Quinn, so Rachel puts her needs on the back-burner and does her best to be with Quinn whenever she can. Just in case Quinn wakes up, but mostly because Rachel doesn't want Quinn to ever feel alone.

As luck would have it, Kurt ends up telling her in the middle of July that he's going to be in New York for the summer on some crazy hip internship, and that he's looking a roommate. One that he could be certain wouldn't steal all of his hair care products and otherwise important possessions.

(As if Rachel would ever put any of that God awful stuff in her hair. She's not a heathen.)

Rachel says yes, not just because she's aching for a friend, but also because it's a quick solution to a big problem and it leaves her more time to spend with Quinn.

* * *

Quinn wakes up in late July, her scars mostly healed but the shadows around her eyes still present. She doesn't say anything to Rachel, or anyone else for that matter. She just sits quietly and stares out the window, forever daydreaming about something-or maybe  _someone._

At first Rachel thinks that she's done something wrong-because she has this internal setting where she believes that everything is usually about her-because Quinn won't even acknowledge her most days, let alone look at her.

Rachel wants to ask but she can't bring herself to ruin the quiet dynamic they've built. She's not ready to tear it all down again just to start over.

Quinn doesn't answer.

So Rachel doesn't ask.

She doesn't give up though because Rachel Berry is nothing if not consistent. She's by far Quinn's most frequent visitor. She knows all the nurses by a first name basis and she's even gotten pretty sociable with a few of the other patients. She's not quite sure why she comes to Quinn's room every day just to sit in silence. She's not quite sure of any of it, actually.

Sometimes, Rachel thinks that that's the part that gets to her the most.

She's planned almost every single aspect of her life for as long as she can remember. Everything she's done or had, has always just been a fact, something she knew was going to happen. After all, she's Rachel Berry, she's bound to be a star.

Quinn, however, is this enigma that Rachel just can't wrap her head around. Whether it was her friendship or her kindness from afar, or even when she was just another one of Rachel's classmates, Rachel can't figure Quinn out and for some reason she just wants to. She can't wrap her head around why she cares so deeply about someone who hasn't been a strong presence in her life.

She only knows that she does.

Rachel only knows that the afternoons spent in silence with Quinn are always better than the nights she spends alone preparing her for her Myspace videos.

* * *

It's not until one day in the middle of August that it all clicks sadly into place.

Rachel's just bought-en these fresh tulips from the local farmers market to give Quinn's room some spice and God forbid, some color. Rachel shoots Nancy a wide grin, just like usual, before walking the familiar path towards Quinn's room. She's whistling this song by The Supremes that Quinn made her listen to once-because even when Quinn isn't there, everything somehow manages to find it's way to her- and shes got this spring in her step because college is coming soon, and for some reason Rachel thinks that that will make everything better again.

When Rachel waltzes into Quinn's room with the bouquet in hand and a grin on her face. Color her absolutely surprised to be met with a completely empty room. At first Rachel assumes that she must be mistaken. So she backtracks her steps and keeps her eyes cautiously trained on the empty bed. When she discovers that she is, in fact, in the right room, Rachel drops the flowers to the floor in horror.

She wants to scream for Nancy and shout out the window for answers. She wants to trace her fingers all over the sheets to see if they're still warm. She wants to call Quinn's cell-and Judy's-even though Rachel knows that both actions would be pointless because this was clearly  _planned_. She wants to cry, and rip the stupid flowers in half, and beg someone... _anyone_  to fix  _it._

In the end Rachel doesn't do any of those things. She just kneels on the ground and puts her head into her hands, her shoulders already shaking with sadness. She's not quite sure how long it takes for her legs to go numb or how long she's sitting there in a different sort of silence. All Rachel knows is that when she lifts her head again the sun is setting and Nancy is moving around her to set up the room for somebody else who needs it more.

Nancy gives Rachel this  _look_  like she understands and it really gets Rachel's blood boiling because she doesn't even think that she understands it all herself. Nancy goes away after a few minutes. Whether it's because she has to or because she wants to give Rachel a moment alone, Rachel isn't sure.

The tears come then because Rachel wishes that she could have just been fucking  _sure_ , that she could have said something earlier and maybe it would have mattered. So instead she cries quietly and mutters a quiet, "okay," even though she knows that what she really meant to say  _I love you._

And when the tears are all gone, Rachel grabs the flowers and places them on Quinn's empty bed. Even though she knows that what she really wants to say is  _I love you_.

And when she passes Nancy in the hall and Nancy gives her a sympathetic smile, Rachel musters a soft one in return. Even though she knows that what she really means is _I love you._

And when she gets home later that night and her father's fawn over her like she's six years old again, she gives them each a kiss on the cheek and a hug. And when they tuck her in with a tenderness that only parents really possess, and whisper soft, "I love you's" into her ear, Rachel murmurs a gruff "you too" in response.

Because even though what she really means is  _I love you_ , Rachel doesn't quite feel the power to say it. Not yet.

And when they close the door quietly behind them, Rachel is extra careful not to whisper any words into the open air. Because even she knows that what she really wants is for someone else to hear to it. So instead she traces the letters in her head and repeats the words over and over again. Like if she spends enough time thinking it, feeling it, and breathing it, maybe Quinn will get it too. It's the last thing Rachel sees before she closes her eyes and the last thing she thinks before she drifts off into a restless sleep.

_I LOVE YOU._


	6. PART FIVE  (This slope is treacherous, this path is reckless)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: It goes without saying that I love the majority of my reviews, even the mean ones. Any time you decide that my story is interesting enough to get a like or your review, and is good enough to help you escape the daily tedious tasks that flutter in and out of your lives...well, I am always extremely honored and quite flattered. So please continue to read and review. Please continue to support creative minds who just want an outlet!
> 
> A/N 2: There is a slight scene in this story where you MIGHT catch a glimpse of an original character I created...if you spot her, comment on it! Tell me if it's enjoyable! Your words are my fuel! Also, please remember: THIS IS QUINNTANA ENDGAME.

**(THIS IS HOW IT WORKS.)**

She wakes up alone.

It's not all that unusual, not for her anyway.

There was a stretch of time once when all Quinn ever did was wake up alone. She ate alone, she slept alone, she  _was_  alone. So this type of solace is definitely something she's used to, it's certainly something she can embrace. It's so common, in fact, that Quinn doesn't even let her mind wander back to the memories of the previous night.

Her mind is hazy and her vision blurry when she finally blinks drearily up at her ceiling. Her mouth is dry and tastes strongly of cotton and her legs feel sticky for reasons she doesn't even have the time to comprehend. The only reminder of the ill decisions from the previous night is the ache in her lower back, an honest to God constant reminder of everything she was once, before she was _this_.

(Of course she fell asleep on her stupid couch  _again_.)

Quinn exhales shakily and proceeds to move forward into a sitting position. However, it's almost too much too soon and the sudden movement sends an uncomfortable spasm down her spine. A whimper escapes from her lips, but Quinn pays it no mind because a part of her feels like she deserves these awkward kinks in her bones. Maybe  _this_ is just another domino in her life that's just been waiting to be tipped over.

She doesn't give her thoughts any time to fester. Instead, she stands up abruptly and then proceeds to curse aloud at how inconveniently painful her couch is -at how inconvenient  _and_  painful it has seriously always been. It's strangely soothing though, this ritual of waking up in a blaze of discomfort, caused by her only real piece of living room furniture.

Seriously though, her couch is a real piece of shit.

Perhaps she's secretly a masochist, she thinks idly, while her eyes scan over the contents of her living room, because she doesn't ever dare let her mind wander towards the idea of really buying another couch.

Maybe it's the familiarity that keeps her from making a change, maybe it's her deep desire to just not give a fuck sometimes. All she knows is that when she exhales loudly, the rest of her complaints go with her foul smelling breath. She rubs at her the corner of her head absentmindedly and rakes her eyes over her living room again, this time with more focus. Quinn spots her phone about halfway thru her search, her S4 seemingly thrown haphazardly in the middle of her floor, it's blinking blue light a reminder of all the things she's missed since she decided to close her eyes.

Quinn sighs again, because sleep is by far the easiest thing to embrace these days, before she tenderly makes her way over towards her phone. She reaches down in one quick swoop and snatches her phone with her right hand before her back can protest.

She unlocks her phone and tries not to grimace when she spots two more missed calls from Frannie. Quinn knows she should call her back, honestly, because Frannie wouldn't be this persistent unless it was important. But everything is melding together these days and Quinn doesn't have the energy to distinguish one person's issues from another. In other words, she doesn't think that she could emotionally handle any more than what she's handling now.

(If  _handling_ was even the right word for what Quinn was doing these days.)

She scrolls through the her unread messages and tries not to feel too disheartened when she realizes all the messages are just from her classmates wondering where she's been. She yawns and throws her phone onto her stupid couch, and decides that now is as good a time as any to call it a day.

* * *

It's nearly two days later when she finally gets a text from Rachel. She's standing in the middle of a flower shop, internally debating the pros and cons of buying a plant for her dreary apartment when she hears -more than she feels- her phone buzz in her pocket.

She tries not to look too worried when she unlocks her phone so that she can read the message. A part of her was concerned after the memories of the past week came flooding back...concerned that Santana and Rachel were both being far too quiet. She doesn't mean to eagerly devour Rachel's text, it just happens. The text isn't long nor does it offer any real explanation to all the weird shit that's been happening over the past week or so. It's just a simple text with the word:

_**Lunch?** _

Quinn quickly types out a long response. One that has very little to do with what they should be talking about and almost too much to do with what they shouldn't. It's at least six sentences long and contains the words " _gardening"_ and " _flower killer"_  and " _Is a tomato a fruit?"_

It's a lot for Rachel to sift through, Quinn knows. It's a whole lot of nothing covering up those very little somethings, but Quinn sends it anyway. Her off topic text doesn't prevent Rachel from sending a quick response back asking for Quinn to give her the address.

So Quinn does.

* * *

"Remind me again why we've been standing in a florists shop for the past hour?"

Quinn raises her head in interest and turns so that she's facing Rachel directly. "Is it a florist shop? I thought that was only for shops that exclusively sold flowers?"

Rachel rubs at her nose in exasperation, her eyes drooping with tiredness. "Quinn. I don't want to insult you but I don't find this conversation or location particularly thrilling. I'm not very fond of plants."

"I thought Rachel Berry was fond of everything?" Quinn says with a small smile, her body turning back towards the giant avocado plant that was situated in front of her, her expression suddenly serious. "Were you aware that plants got this big?"

"It's not out of the realm of possibility, they do grow," Rachel answers, her eyes watering a little too quickly when a customer walks by with a bouquet of sunflowers. "My allergies are so not pleased right now. This is almost as horrible as that time when you made me watch the Austin Powers series."

Quinn whirls around, her brow creased. "Um, Austin Powers is a national treasure, Rach. Also, I just feel this terrible urge to garden all of a sudden. I can't explain it."

Rachel's eyes sparkle with something other than tears before she turns away to walk down the aisle opposite of the one Quinn's in. "Perhaps it's your deep internal desire to nest?"

Quinn's laugh is short and harsh as she turns to examine a banana plant. "Yeah, right."

"I'm just saying," Rachel starts as she spots a Venus fly trap. "A desire to plant is eerily similar to the desire to birth."

"Rach, there's nothing similar about those things. One causes intense pain and the other gives you delicious vegetables and beautiful, beautiful flowers." Quinn stands and gestures at the woman behind the counter, before giving the cashier her card. "I think this is the one."

Rachel scurries over and does her best to look intrigued with Quinn's choice. "Really?" Rachel asks in disbelief when her eyes land on the potted plant that Quinn is pointing to. "That's what you picked?"

Quinn shrugs sheepishly before adjusting the strap on her side satchel. "He's cute."

"He?"

"Yeah," Quinn says with a nod. "He's too masculine to be a she. Obviously."

Rachel stares at Quinn incredulously. "You are aware that we're talking about a rather large plant, right?"

"A beautiful, masculine, banana plant. Yes, I am aware." Quinn grins broadly when the lady successfully swipes her credit card. "My grandmother had one, you know."

Rachel shakes her head and turns away, her lips pulling into a thin smile. "If you weren't so darn adorable this entire situation would be pretty weird."

Rachel's comment throws Quinn for a loop and as a result a nervous feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. Quinn manages a shaky smile before grabbing her card back from the cashier. "Alright. We should get to this."

"We?" Rachel asks entirely too loud. "What do you mean by we?"

Quinn gestures helplessly at the oversized banana plant that's just waiting to be carried the sixteen blocks back to her house. "I can't carry him on my own. I'm a helpless young girl with horrible coordination." Quinn does her best not to laugh when Rachel rolls her eyes and adjusts the beanie on her head. "Plus, you know I have  _terrible back problems._ "

Rachel heaves a giant sigh and tries to grimace, but it fails spectacularly because even though Rachel is a wonderful actress, she's terrible at not showing how pleased she is. "You know, it suddenly makes sense to me why you've been single all these years."

"Shut up."

* * *

"This seemed like a much better idea eleven blocks ago."

Rachel stops abruptly to wipe the sweat from her brow before gripping the edge of the pot again. "I'd like the record to show that I  _never_ thought this was a good idea."

Quinn smiles weakly as another sharp pain makes it's way through her lower back. "And yet, here you are  _anyway_. Grumpy faces, whiny voice, and everything else."

"Move it!" Rachel shouts obnoxiously over her shoulder. "Can't you see we're moving a plant over here?!" Rachel exclaims, her voice rising another notch. Rachel somehow manages to intimidate the small groups of children until they all scatter and leave enough room for Rachel and Quinn to comfortable move by. When she's seemingly satisfied with the school of parting children, she turns her attention back to Quinn and gives her a wide smile, her cheeks rosy. " _Anyway,_ of course I'm here! Where else would I really want to be?"

It shouldn't throw Quinn as far off course as it does, Rachel's simple sentence. But it does. Quinn wants to keep everything bottled in, she wants to keep going on like they are right now. When things are silly and fun and Rachel is her best friend. That's what Quinn wants to keep. But the words are crawling out of her mouth, anyway, before Quinn can even really figure out how to stop them.

"You kissed me."

It's perhaps the dumbest thing to say when you're carrying a huge potted plant three blocks away from your house. It's perhaps the dumbest thing to say to the person who is helping carry said plant. It's perhaps even dumber to say it whilst mid-stride and mid-carry, because before Quinn can even recognize what's happening, she feels a heavy ass weight land on her right foot.

" _Mother fucker!_ " Quinn yelps. She's hopping on her left foot now as Rachel looks at her with a horrified expression.

"Oh my gosh!" Rachel exclaims, her hands over her mouth. "I didn't mean to do that! I am  _so sorry,_  Quinn."

"Who the hell just drops a potted plant without any warning?" Quinn half asks, half yells. She's placing her foot down gingerly and trying not to wince when Rachel finally lowers her hands, her eyes narrow.

"Oh, I don't know," Rachel begins seriously, her green peacoat swaying weirdly with the wind. "Who brings up an intimate topic in the middle of a crowded sidewalk?!"

"Well I'm sorry that I don't have very good timing! Doesn't mean you need to drop a plant on my foot!" Quinn's yelling now, and it's an even dumber thing to do than mentioning something so private in a place so public, in a moment so impersonal. However, she's a Fabray and it's because of this that she immediately decides she can't back down. It's stupid and idiotic, but Quinn can't stop now. "While we're on the topic of ill timing." Quinn starts, her eyes focused on Rachel's firm ones. "How about that little fact where you put  _your lips_  on  _my lips_  and then proceeded to act like it wasn't out of the fucking blue!" Quinn doesn't know why she's saying it, or rather,  _yelling_ it, in the middle of a sidewalk. She doesn't know if she's yelling it out loud for the crowd that's quickly forming, or if she's doing it for herself. She only knows that she's said it and that there's no going back now.

It's enough, it seems, to push Rachel's buttons. Rachel rears her head back, her eyes piercing through Quinn's skin like daggers. Quinn can't help it when she feels her temperature rise. She can't help it that she's hot all over when Rachel takes a step forward, her finger jabbing Quinn in the chest. "Maybe if you paid attention to someone other than yourself for a change, you'd notice things like that!" Rachel's hair is flying all over the place and even though she does her best to pat it down, it still looks as wild as Rachel feels. "Maybe if you could notice someone other than Santana, you would realize that other people exist too. We're not just here to please you, Quinn."

It's true, Quinn thinks, and it almost makes her laugh. Instead, she bares her teeth and says the worst thing she can think of. "Maybe if you weren't so eager to pick up everyone's seconds, I would actually be able to tell the difference between your desperation and your actual desires."

It's too far. She knows it's too far when Rachel takes a step back, her face stricken with the sort of grief Quinn has only seen once before. Rachel hangs her head with someone akin to shame, and Quinn feels like shit because it's not true. She didn't mean any of it. Fabray's were just really good at striking when they needed to. But she never intended for Rachel to be someone she struck down.

Quinn rushes forward, an apology written all over her body. "Shit, Rach, that's so not true. I didn't fucking mean any of i-"

Quinn is prepared for the hand that shoves her back, but she isn't prepared for the hand that connects with her face. It stings more than Quinn thought it would, being slapped, and she's so shocked by the fact that Rachel has actually hit her that Quinn doesn't move. Not when Rachel retracts her hand and not when tears start falling from the corners of Rachel's eyes.

"You, Quinn Fabray," Rachel says shakily, her voice barely a whisper. "Are a cruel person. Good luck with your plant."

How funny, Quinn thinks as she watches Rachel march away, her cheek burning with something other than anger, that Rachel Berry ended up still being right.

* * *

In the end, she calls Santana.

Santana informs after picking up that she still has a few minutes left in her shift, but that she'll head right over when she's done. Quinn doesn't tell Santana how grateful she is, she's pretty sure Santana can hear the desperation in her voice when she whispers a pathetic goodbye into the phone.

When Santana finally arrives forty-five minutes later, a sandwich in one hand and an old person's wheelchair walker in the other, Quinn could almost kiss her.

She doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's the tight dress that's clinging so dangerously close to Santana's body, or the fact that Santana doesn't ask her questions, that Santana has rarely ever asked for an explanation. All Quinn knows is that her heart flutters when Santana sidles up to her and lowers her shades until her eyes peer over them.

"I hear there's a damsel in need of rescuing?"

It shouldn't be cute. Fuck, none of this should be acceptable. But it  _is_.

Quinn nods her head in response instead of answering because she's not certain if her voice will betray her. It's ridiculously cute when Santana hands her the sandwich and then proceeds to attempt to lift her banana plant onto the walker. Santana is wearing a ridiculously short purple dress and extremely long black high heels, along with her customary leather jacket, and a part of Quinn wants to demand why Santana has to wear something so revealing to work, but Santana's currently bent over a banana plant attempting to lift it up with all of her strength and Quinn doesn't have the desire to ruin another moment.

Again, it  _shouldn't_  be cute. Quinn  _shouldn't_  notice how Santana's muscles constrict when she lifts the plant onto the walker. Quinn  _shouldn't_  laugh when Santana starts pushing the walker down the sidewalk, her whole demeanor completely out of place with the image. Quinn  _shouldn't_ feel guilty when Santana shoots her a little grin after successfully avoiding a massive crack in the side walk.

But it  _is_ and she  _does._

"Sooo," Quinn starts to draw Santana's attention. "Do you just have a walker lying around? Cause that's a little strange."

"Ah, you know," Santana says as if Quinn does, in fact, know. "Never know when there will be a damsel in distress." Santana shoots Quinn a cheeky grin. "Or when you'll need to push around a big ass plant."

Quinn follows closely behind as Santana continues to push the plant towards her apartment. "Okay," Santana half-wheezes, half sighs. "Please tell me you lost a bet and this was your punishment."

Quinn shakes her head dubiously before she realizes that Santana can't even see her. "Uh, no. I just really wanted a plant."

"And you thought you could just carry it all the way to your apartment?" Santana asks loudly, her back hunching over the walker. "What, with your charm?"

"Actually…" Quinn trails off, her body stepping to the side to avoid a mother and her two children. "Rachel  _was_  helping me."

"Did the hobbit have more pressing needs?" Santana holds her hand up to silence Quinn before she can even bother to get a word out, her body angled awkwardly to avoid the oncoming crowd. "Wait. Don't tell me. She had a wardrobe malfunction and was forced to go hide underground until the trolls that she calls her friends could magically fix it?"

Quinn knows that Santana's trying to cheer her up by using the type of dry, sarcastic wit that Quinn has always been so fond of. She knows that, but it still feels wrong somehow, to let Santana insult Rachel when all Rachel ever really did was try to love her. She's tired of dancing around all the subjects that matter. She's tired of constantly walking on a tightrope between the things that were acknowledged and the things that just happened.

So Quinn tells her.

She tells Santana after abruptly stopping in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, how she had a dream last night about her grandma's banana plant and how somehow she thought having that physical reminder would make everything else make sense. She tells Santana about how Rachel has always been there, about how she  _was_  there, and about how Quinn chased her away with words that were hurtful and untrue.

She doesn't mention the kiss. Mostly because she's not an idiot, but also because that's a whole other problem for a whole other day.

When she finally finishes, her cheeks are warm with all the things that are no longer left unsaid. Her fingers are twitching in anticipation as she waits for Santana to respond. It's not uncommon for Quinn to be waiting on Santana, but that doesn't make it any less weird, to be standing here years later waiting for an answer to  _whatever_  it is she's trying to explain.

To Santana's credit, she's being eerily quiet, her glasses slowly sliding down her nose due to the angle of her head. It's the first thing Quinn really notices because Santana Lopez isn't one to hesitate, and for the first time in a long time, Quinn gets the feeling that Santana is trying to choose her words carefully.

It's weird, but only because Quinn's not used to it.

Santana pushes her sunglasses up with the tip of her finger before clearing her throat. "I'm not really known for my stellar advice or my friendships with other people, so you don't really have to listen to what I have to say if you don't want to... _but_ , personally, I think you should call Rachel as soon as you can and apologize."

"What?" Quinn asks, a little too harshly. Her mind thinking she misheard.

Santana licks her lips and looks away, her hands have shifted back to resting on the walker, and her expression is strangely somber. "Rachel is a good person. She's a good friend. And so are you. So call her to apologize. She'll probably forgive you in a second."

"Your big advice is just to say I'm sorry?" Quinn asks, disbelief melting into her features. Sorry didn't fix the burns Santana gave her all those years ago. However, it's not illogical to conclude that Rachel is a bigger person, after all, she  _is_ Rachel Berry.

Santana tilts her head to the side and even though Quinn can't see her eyes, she just  _knows_  that Santana is rolling them. "No. My big advice is to say you're sorry and to mean it. It's pointless if you don't mean it and everything if you do. Rachel will be able to tell."

"What makes you so sure?"

Santana flips her hair absentmindedly. "Because  _you_  could tell."

Quinn doesn't need further explanation. She knows what Santana is referring to and she can't help but feel a little proud that Santana could stand here all these years later and admit to the things she couldn't before.

"Thank you."

Santana lifts her head curiously, her hands moving to her hips. "For what?"

"For being a friend," Quinn answers honestly, her hand itching to cross the space between them and rest somewhere on Santana's skin.

"Yeah, well," Santana says with a small smile. "We all gotta start somewhere."

* * *

Santana does most of the heavy lifting when they reach her apartment, which is damn near comical to watch, if Quinn is being absolutely honest.

Santana's not much bigger than Quinn and yet she still insists on being the sole person to carry Quinn's plant up the flights of stairs. It's humorous to see and Quinn doesn't hold back when laughter bubbles up from her gut and erupts from her mouth with a strange sharpness.

Santana doesn't ask if Quinn's laughing at her. Instead she laughs too, and before they both know it, they're hunching over gripping their sides. It's the most honest representation of who they are now, these hunched over fools, laughing at something so small. It hits Quinn then that if Rachel could be wrong about Quinn-because she said Quinn is cruel, and maybe she is sometimes, but she never is on purpose-then maybe Quinn could be wrong about Santana too.

Santana did a terrible thing. A heart-wrenching, gut stomping, thing. But when Quinn sees Santana now, her hands resting carelessly over her belly, her mouth stretched wide to accommodate her obscene laughter, Quinn can't help but believe that she's  _not_  a terrible person.

Santana's just a girl who did a terrible thing. And Quinn is just the unlucky girl at the receiving end of it.

She opens her mouth to say it when she's interrupted by heavy footsteps coming from below. Quinn barely manages to cling to the rail before one of her neighbors-with red hair and smudged make-up-pushes by. The woman is most certainly coming home after a long night of partying, her shoes in her hand, her silver dress riding up to reveal milky thighs, and her eyes half closed. Quinn's neighbor makes it to the top of the stairs before turning around, her mouth open slightly in confusion.

She points at the plant Santana is somehow still holding and jerks her head. "Um, you guys see the plant too, right?"

Quinn nods while Santana lets out a firm, "yes."

"Okay, cool," the woman answers. "Cause I totally thought someone put something rapey in my margarita for a moment." The woman reaches into the bag that Quinn hadn't even noticed she was carrying, and pulls out a plastic bottle filled with yellow liquid. She takes off the cap and stretches out her arm in an offering. "Portable margarita?" Quinn quickly shakes her head  _no_  and watches as Santana does the same, before the woman shrugs and brings the bottle to her lips. "Cool. More for me." She swallows what was remaining in the bottle in about three gulps and then gingerly places the empty plastic bottle down on one of the steps. "I'm not going to lie, it's a little weird that you're both standing in the middle of a flight of stairs with a giant plant. But, hey, I'm not a lesbian so I figure this could just be like a thing you guys do?" The woman points at Santana, her hands shaky and clearly unfocused. "You have very beautiful skin. If I was gay, I would _totally_  stand on some stairs with a plant for you."

The woman nods to no one in particular and heaves a giant sigh, as if this conversation has been a burden instead of incredibly random. "Well, you two have a merry day."

The woman leaves as quickly as she comes, leaving behind a bewildered Quinn and an amused Santana. Santana grabs onto the plant-Jackson, as Quinn has so awesomely just decided to name him- and starts heaving him up the stairs again, the earlier moment lost. "So, who the heck was that?"

Quinn shrugs in response, even though Santana can't quite see her. She trails behind Santana and follows her up the stairs, trying not to fall too far behind. "I dunno. I think her name starts with an S though."

"That makes sense. It's incredibly common for people with S names to have amazing senses of humor."

* * *

Quinn unlocks her door with about as much grace and charisma as a teenage boy unhooking a bra on prom night. She's obscenely nervous for some reason and even though it's completely ridiculous, her hands shake uncontrollably while Santana breathes heavily behind her.

When Quinn finally hears the magnificent  _click_  that she always associates with the idea of  _home_ , she twists her handle and pushes her door open quickly. She ushers in about as fast as her feet can move and even though it makes no sense, she steps to the side and turns around so that Santana can have enough room to follow her.

Except that Santana doesn't.

Santana's still situated outside of her door, in her hallway, her hands on her knees and her breath coming out in is situated nicely beside her, every leaf still perfectly in tact.

"Are you okay?" Santana waves her right hand at Quinn in response, so Quinn just assumes that that's a yes. "Um, are you coming in?"

Santana jerks upright at Quinn's question, her chest heaving. "Yes. I mean,  _no_." Santana pants out in between breaths. "God damn you have a lot of stairs."

Quinn ignores Santana's second statement. "No?"

"I can't properly be your friend if I waltz into your apartment every time I damn well please."

Quinn raises an eyebrow in response. "What makes you think we need to be friends?"

"Look," Santana starts, her breathing suddenly normal. "Last time...it didn't happen right. Not when we were kids and not the other day. I...I want us to try, Quinn. I  _need_  it. I can't properly court you if I'm constantly getting you high and sneaking into your highly regarded panties."

"What makes you think I'd let you back into them?" Quinn asks, her body feeling suddenly bold.

" _Please,"_ Santana answers with a hint of sarcasm, before gesturing in between them. "You're in denial if you don't feel  _it_."

"What makes you think I want to be courted?"

Santana rolls her eyes in response. "You're  _Quinn Fabray._  It's not so much a want as it is a  _requirement_. I know that now. I've fucking changed, okay? I'm not sixteen anymore. I'm not in some shitty town with even shittier people who have small minds. I know helping you out and saying these things and even making you orgasm until you can't stand, won't fix any of it, it won't fix anything that I did. But I'm still going to try. I didn't get co-captain because of my ability to give up quickly. I got it because of my willingness to see everything through, and also because my rack is the best weapon Coach Sylvester could have ever asked for. I mean, have you ever noticed how the majority of Lima is covered with women who have strangely small tits? It's weird. I think that's why my dad's practice has been so succ-"

"Santana," Quinn interrupts. She chooses not to respond to Santana's statement. Instead she changes the topic by pointing at the walker that Jackson was still sitting peacefully on. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

Santana shrugs sheepishly, her head dipping down. "Keep it."

"What am I supposed to do with a walker?"

Santana shoves her hands into her leather jacket. "Use it for transportation? Get a fire extinguisher and time how long it takes you to get from one side of of your living room to the other? I don't care...it gives me another reason to come back, though."

"Another?"

Santana puffs air into both of her cheeks and starts walking backwards, her heels clacking loudly on the floor. "Aside from you of course," Santana tosses casually over her shoulder as she turns around, even though that statement is anything but casual.

She is so  _fucked_.

* * *

She calls Rachel immediately.

And when Rachel doesn't pick up, Quinn leaves a voice-mail before quickly hanging up and calling again.

Each voice-mail starts becoming more haggard and desperate than the previous, Quinn's worry lacing through her voice with no attempt on her part to hide it.

She's on voice-mail number seventeen when Quinn finally decides to give it up. Rachel clearly doesn't want to answer her, and plus, Quinn has always had a soft spot for that number. She decides that to truly leave an impact, for Rachel to truly know how sorry she Is (not just for this, but for everything) Quinn needs to follow Santana's advice.

(She never in a million years thought she'd be saying that, but there you go.)

So she does. She bares it all, starting with a softly pleading, "Rachel."

Before moving onto, "The thing with Santana started when I was fifteen...no, that isn't right. I think it really started when I was ten. She was my opposite and my equal and...gosh, I think that for awhile there she was my everything. It's hard to wrap my head around all of it, really, even now. And I  _could_  place the blame on her for all of it, you know? She  _is_ the one who kissed me. The one who made love to me. But that wouldn't be the whole truth, I think. The thing is, the real truth is...that I  _let_ her. Maybe I wanted it to happen long before it ever did, I don't know?" Quinn whispers dejectedly into into the phone, her gaze on her new plant.

"If I could explain it, believe me, I  _would._ But honestly, I'm not even really sure how it happened, just that it  _did_  and it felt all consuming back then. I don't think I could have stopped it...and I'm not telling you this to make you feel poorly, it's just-you're wrong, you know? You said I only see her and maybe that was true, once upon a time. But it's not anymore. It hasn't been since the day I hit your car. Because the truth is, Rachel Berry, that I have only ever had two friends. I've only ever really loved two people outside of the ones still in Lima. And you are one of them. And maybe you don't see it. Maybe it's not in the same way, in the way you want it to be, but it  _is_  there. And...and maybe you don't feel it because I don't want you to, but Rachel, you  _saved_  me. And when I left,  _you_  were the one I regretted leaving behind. And when I think of friendships spanning over decades of life, I think of  _ours._  So...call me back, okay? Call me and we ca-"

The message tone beeps before Quinn can get another word out. She heaves a giant sigh before heading towards her shower, hoping that this time it'll be enough to repair a friendship that cracked years ago.

If her grandmother were here, she'd tell Quinn to pray because there's absolutely no problem that God couldn't hear. Not if your heart is true, and not if you really mean what you're saying. It is and she does, so Quinn prays.

She prays for the first time in many, many years.

* * *

When Quinn's phone rings later that night, she nearly kills herself from leaping across the bed so that she could answer it quickly. She snatches her phone in one big swoop and sends a silent thank you to God for the caller to not have hung up yet.

"Hello?"

"Quinn?" She hears a voice say with relief. " _Finally_."

"Frannie?" Quinn asks, her voice unable to reel in her clear disappointment.

"Whoa there tiger, don't get too excited." Frannie answers, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's just your  _only_  big sister. The one who's been trying to reach you for  _weeks._ "

Quinn turns around so that she's lying flat on her back, her eyes focused on this weird grey spot on her ceiling. "Sorry, Frannie. I've been busy." It's not a lie, not really. Her mind has certainly been busy, just like her heart. "I was gonna call you back."

"Yeah, sure." Frannie dismisses. "Look, Quinn...it's important okay?"

" _Okay._  I'm listening" Quinn answers, clearly in an attempt to placate her older sister so that she could end this call sooner. She has homework and school jobs to apply for, and Rachel's-as well as Santana's-Facebook to stalk. It's a new habit of hers. Checking their FB's for any kind of activity. "What's up?"

"I think you should come home for the summer."

It's so completely out of the blue and so completely  _not_  what Quinn wanted to hear.  _Home_ , Frannie said, as if such a thing was easy to define. As if such a thing was something Quinn would ever want to remember. "You want me to come back to  _Lima_  for the summer? Why?"

Quinn knows she sounds like a petulant child. She can hear it in the way Frannie's breathing becomes louder, in how quickly Frannie snaps. "I'm your older sister. Do I need to have a reason why?"

It's ridiculous because Quinn's an adult. She doesn't need to take orders from her older sister. She doesn't need to listen to anything she has to say. She doesn't need-nor does she want-to go back. She left everything behind for a reason, she disappeared because she needed to. Lima has never been good for her. "I'm going to have to go with a solid  _no_. But thanks, anyway."

"Listen, I've already purchased your plane ticket. It's for two days after your last class. I'll pick you up from the airport. We'll sleep in Dad's old study since Mom turned our bedrooms into wine storage rooms."

Quinn doesn't mean to roll her eyes. It's just...of  _course_  her mother did that. "Hold on. You can't just make all these decisions without me. I'm not a baby anymore." Quinn spits out before her brain gives her more time to backtrack. "What do you mean we'll sleep in Dads study? He never let's us in there."

"I highly doubt he has much room to complain anymore, Quinnie," Frannie answers quickly, as if her words are in a rush to get out into the open. "Since he's not around."

"Where else would he be?"

Frannie groans loudly. As if explaining all of this to her little sister was the worlds biggest hassle. "Mom and Dad separated months ago, Quinn. He moved in with his secretary."

"Wait. What?!" Quinn exclaims, her mind reeling with how little she seems to know about her family at the moment. She can't help but focus on the fact that Frannie said months. Not days or weeks,  _months_. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Maybe if you actually answered your phone every once and a while, we would have."

Quinn sits up quickly, her tongue already sharp and ready for battle. "Wow. Guilting someone into feeling like shit is certainly a handy Fabray trait, now isn't it?"

"Quinn?" Frannie whispers tiredly into the phone. "I didn't call to fight with you, alright? I just-I'm having a hard time. Can you please just listen to me?"

"Yeah, sure." Quinn answers dismissively. She stays silent for as long as she can bear before she caves and pushes the phone closer to her ear. "Okay?"

Frannie sighs. All big and dramatic, just like she used to when Quinn would annoy her and it makes Quinn bristle with irritation. "Mom never remembers where she puts her keys."

"Well, she's drunk most of the time so I highly doubt she'd really ever remember." Quinn jokes, albeit lamely, her sentence ending with a small laugh because even if it's cruel, it's still true.

"No." Frannie replies sternly, her voice leaning towards weary. "Mom  _never_ remembers where she puts her keys, Quinn."

And that's when Quinn stops believing in a God.

* * *

She calls Rachel because she doesn't think she could handle telling Santana, not yet. Rachel doesn't pick up-which, of course- so Quinn hangs up and hastily throws her phone across the room.

She can't bear it. She can't bear the thought of  _it._  She can't bear the thought of being alone. Not for this, not  _again._

So Quinn decides to call Kurt.

She's dialing his number with shaky fingers, her back leaning against her bedroom wall for support, when she suddenly realizes how ironic all of this is. She wants to cry, she thinks, but she doesn't quite know if she can. This feeling...it's familiar and yet, not quite the same.

The line picks up on the third ring and before Quinn can get a word out, she hears Rachel's voice sift through the speaker. "It seems my roommate forgot the veggie roll sauce,  _again,_ " Rachel says with a small chuckle. "Perhaps I can come pick it up so that you don't have to have your delivery man walk all the way back?"

Quinn doesn't mean to cry. She doesn't mean to start sobbing about how unfair everything is or about how scared she was. She doesn't mean to cry into a tiny phone about how she doesn't understand how life could be this hard, or this cruel.

She can't stop it now, it's too late, so Quinn curls into a ball and continues to cry.

She doesn't know how long it's been but it must have been awhile because Quinn has somehow managed to drift off to unsteady sleep. She feels a hand place itself gingerly on her cheek, and she feels a wet cloth wipe away the gunk that's probably stuck around her eyes. She opens her eyes drearily when she feels a pair of arms pull her up.

At any other time this would be funny, Quinn thinks, because the half-blurry sight of Rachel Berry trying to carry Quinn Fabray to her bed is certainly a sight to see. It's almost comical how hard Rachel tries, how determined she looks.

If only Quinn felt like laughing.

Rachel sets her down gingerly on the bed, her hands moving to grab a blanket she could cover Quinn with. When Rachel's done she starts to move away, but Quinn's arm shoots out from under the blanket and latches onto Rachel's tightly.

"Stay," Quinn manages to croak out, her voice cracking. "Please?"

Rachel sighs and stares at Quinn sadly, her body already moving into a flat position on the bed while Quinn scoots over. "Okay," Rachel says when Quinn wraps her arms around Rachel's torso from behind. "Okay."

* * *

Rachel somehow manages to get Quinn ready in the morning.

Rachel prods Quinn until she's in clothing that Rachel deems somewhat appropriate and functionable. Rachel makes Quinn coffee and gets Quinn to down a cup and a half before sending her off to class with a bagel and a kiss on the cheek.

She's nearing the middle of her semester which means midterms and downright exhaustion (it also means that she has no opportunity to just give up and take another personal day), but instead her mind is focused on another topic entirely. This one involves white rooms and a woman who kept calling her Judy. It involves everything Quinn doesn't want to remember and everything she doesn't think she can do, not again.

She's shuffling around Greenwich, her legs carrying her closer and closer to NYU, when she spots familiar blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

_Brittany._

She's unmistakable in her unicorn hat, red pants, and blue sweater. The sight makes Quinn's stomach turn because it doesn't feel like any time has passed. Brittany hasn't really changed, at least not from her perspective.

Quinn doesn't want to say anything, not really, because she doesn't feel like she owes this girl a friendship-let alone a conversation. She decides to just turn around before she ends up having to go through the necessities of an awkward greeting. She doesn't get the chance to successfully dodge Brittany and her group of friends, though. No, Brittany completely takes that option away from her by yelling her name loudly across the crowd.

Everyone turns to look at Quinn then, and it would be mortifying if Quinn wasn't so darn curious as to what the hell Brittany was doing on her turf. She plasters on a fake smile immediately and does her best to look cheerful as Brittany makes her way over towards her. Brittany hops when she lands in front of Quinn, an earnest smile on her face.

"Hi Quinn! How cool is it that we ran into each other?"

Quinn doesn't give her an answer. Instead she grabs Brittany roughly by the wrist and pulls the blonde closer to her body. "What are  _you_  doing here?"

If Brittany's offended by Quinn's tone, she doesn't show it. She just looks at Quinn as if it's the most obvious answer in the world, her stupid unicorn hat bobbing ridiculously from one side to the other. "I study film."

"What?" Quinn asks. She's certain she misheard her because there's no way Brittany could go  _here_  to her school. Let alone be studying something that others consider prestigious. She doesn't have the energy to have this conversation. So she decides to just wait until Brittany responds.

"I study film," Brittany repeats, albeit slowly this time. "Like, I go to school here?"

Quinn waves her hand at Brittany dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. I got  _that_. I just…"

"You just?"

She just thinks it's stupid that Brittany is standing across from her like it's the most obvious thing in the whole world. She thinks it's unfair that she could go all these years without any of the ghosts of her past catching up to her, but now she can't seem to go one day without spotting one.

Quinn clears her throat to get back Brittany's gaze-which has somehow traveled to the little girl behind Quinn, and her puppy, that are tramping cutely through the park. When Brittany finally drags her focus back to Quinn, her face seems brighter and her demeanor more at ease. "Santana never told me that."

Brittany shrugs easily, her eyes already moving towards the boy in the wheelchair that's waiting awkwardly behind her. The boy Quinn met a few months ago. Brittany turns her body away slightly and tilts her head to the side, her voice clear. "Yeah, well, Santana has always been spectacular at keeping secrets."

The funniest thing is that Brittany's not wrong.

Fuck, what was her life coming to?


	7. Catching Feelings Is A No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Heeeeey. My bad for disappearing for so long. I've gotten caught up with work and life and pretty ladies. So, here's this short update because I love you guys and I want you guys to love me. Anyway, it's extremely angsty but with all the Faberry I've been accidentally filling these chapters with, I thought I'd give you guys some Quinntana.
> 
> A/N 2: If you love it, let me know. If you hate it, let me know! Make no mistake, Quinntana IS endgame.

_A/N 1: If you love it, let me know. If you hate it, let me know! Make no mistake, Quinntana IS endgame._

* * *

**PART SIX**

**(Catching Feelings Is A No)**

**(THIS IS HOW IT WORKS)**

Quinn's classes pass by her in a welcome blur of color and nonsense.

Quinn's focus is gone. Her appetite for knowledge is strained (which shocks her more than she likes to admit). Her heart is upside down and her stomach is feeling topsy-turvy. She feels lopsided while trudging her way from one class to the next, her right foot dragging lazily on the ground, as if one part of her body just became suddenly  _heavy_.

She tells herself repeatedly throughout the day to  _just keep it together_  because nobody deserves to see what she's keeping in, and time isn't there to let her dwell. When it's clear that  _that_  particular mantra is starting to wither away due to the onslaught of old memories-sad, forgotten, quiet memories-Quinn quickly changes it to  _just keep it together while in public._

She doesn't cry once while on campus.

It's a victory, however minor, and she's grateful for it.

She doesn't get far from the school before the weight of her youth stops feeling like flashes of old memories and starts feeling like heavy burdens. Her mind-her most loyal organ-has finally decided to jump ship with the rest of her body, and decides that now is the  _perfect_  time for everything to come tumbling down. The memories weigh her down emotionally, like little drops of rain, until Quinn's emotions aren't just sprinkling out anymore. No, instead they're  _pouring_  out of her in tears, clenched fists, and bursts of anger.

 _Itisn't fair_ , she thinks as her fist collides painfully with a brick wall,  _that she can never have her life completely in order._

She can't handle it, and even though that thought starts to flutter away as quickly as it came (because honestly she's barely handled anything in her life since high school), Quinn knows that what she really means is that she can't handle it  _again_. Again and again and again.

It's the realization that her life shouldn't be about handling anything (and yet, that's all it ever feels like for her), that it should be about downright living, that has Quinn wiping the tears away with the tips of her fingers and putting one foot carefully in front of the other.

She's making her way home, slowly, but at least she's making her way somewhere.

Her right hand stings when she opens her fist again after a few blocks of steady silence. Drops of blood are pooling curiously at the corner of her palm, bright red against ghost white. It's a weird sight to see; Quinn Fabray's pale skin marred by her own rash decisions. It's not in order, not like how it should be. But It seems that the actions of her life aren't in any sort of order anymore.

It's odd, but the pain surrounding it all makes her feel more present. It roots her existence somehow, the tragedies that surround her. It burrows down deep into her bones and makes her ache with pain all over, and a part of her just welcomes it, because she hasn't felt this present in a quite a while.

* * *

She feels like  _shit_.

Quinn doesn't need to inquire about how she looks because she's certain her appearance matches how utterly terrible she feels.

Her fist has already started swelling by the time she reaches her apartment door, so she grasps the handle with her left hand and pushes her door open with whatever strength she has remaining.

Quinn isn't expecting much when she enters her apartment. She's had a long day - a draining, handicapping, unfortunate day. Her body clearly doesn't disagree, even though what she really means is that she's had a long life, because she feels exhausted. She's expecting her disgusting couch and her terribly cheap and undercooked cup of noodles. She's expecting tears and short prayers-because she's never been particularly good at saying what she wants out loud, even when she was stuck between a rock and her car (an almost literal representation of a hard place).

However, she's certainly not expecting Kurt Hummel to greet her curtly.

She shuts the door behind her as quickly as she can with her marred hand, before turning around completely to face Kurt. He's seated on her couch, perched rather uncomfortably (as if anyone could be anything but uncomfortable on that monster) his legs crossed and his smile faint.

Quinn drops her side bag unceremoniously on the ground, the thump echoing around her mostly empty apartment. "Where's Rachel?"

"She went to work," Kurt answers with a small shrug, his nails scratching against his knees out of habit. "She asked me to come here and check up on you."

Quinn snorts in response, her head shaking dismissively. "Not needed, but thanks."

Quinn doesn't continue. Instead she heads over towards her kitchen to get an ice pack out of her freezer. It's ridiculous how quickly she forgets that Kurt's there. Her focus quickly shifting from the boy on her couch to the pain coursing throughout her hand. She doesn't mean to be startled when she turns around and almost finds herself face to face with Kurt's beautifully sculpted eyebrows. She definitely doesn't mean to send the ice pack sailing out of her hand and towards Kurt's well moisturized face.

His loud screech almost makes the past few hours worth it.  _Almost._

"Quinn," Kurt starts, his hands running through his hair. "We need to talk."

Quinn shakes her head as she reaches for the ice pack that's lying uselessly on her counter. "No, we don't."

Kurt doesn't budge and it's infuriating to Quinn how nothing quite moves the way that she wants it to. "You can't keep expecting Rachel to be there every time you need her."

"I don't," Quinn objects loudly, because she  _doesn't_. She doesn't mean to. Kurt's steely gaze doesn't change after Quinn's statement and Quinn's shoulders slump forward in response. "I  _don't."_

"She needs space."

Quinn laughs even though she doesn't want to. She laughs because this is rich coming from Kurt while he's invading hers. This is rich when they've had years and states and memories designed around space. "I give her space."

"She's too invested in your life," Kurt answers bluntly. "And you let her get invested in you."

"Funny," Quinn responds sarcastically. "I thought that was what happened in a friendship."

"She loves you."

"I know," Quinn says, her words wrapped tightly around a sigh. She places the ice pack carelessly over her hand, her hopes wringing tightly around the idea that the cold will help with something.

"And you don't love her back."

"That's not true," Quinn protests, because it's not. She has love for Rachel. She has an abundance of it, so much so that Quinn can't let it go. Not Rachel and not Kurt's statement. It aches within her because she feels it and she doesn't know how to make Rachel feel it too, at least not in the right way. "I love Rachel. I  _do."_

Kurt holds his hand up, effectively silencing Quinn's other objections. "I don't doubt that you do, Quinn. I see it and I'm sure Rachel sees it too," Kurt trails off softly. "Just not correctly."

"I can't have this conversation right now," Quinn admits, her gaze landing on her counter. It's a burden to love someone, to care, when in the end it all just ends up hurting somehow.

"What I'm saying is that you don't love her in the same way."

Kurt's words suck whatever life that's left out of the room. Quinn's hands slip and her face almost hits the counter, her breath feels sharper and her lungs smaller. It's the truth that really gets to her because it's harder to let go. It's the truth of what Rachel wants and what Quinn doesn't that changes everything.

She's not ready. Not for today, not for tomorrow, and definitely not for this. Quinn levels her gaze with Kurt's and does her best not to break, her mind still repeating her mantra of  _not in public, not in public, not in public._

Because that's what Kurt's statement is:  _public._

"Not now, Kurt."

"Quinn, I kn-"

" _Kurt_ ," Quinn warns, her voice cracking against her will. " _Please._  Not now."

Kurt nods, his eyes softening with understanding. "Okay." He nods again and starts walking backwards, his eyes still on Quinn's slumped frame. "Take care of yourself, Quinn."

Quinn doesn't bother to tell Kurt that she'll  _try_  as he leaves, because she doesn't feel like telling anymore lies.

* * *

Quinn wakes up hours later with her hair stuck to her head and her hand wrapped around a bottle. She doesn't quite remember how she ended up on her kitchen floor, not really, but she welcomes the cool feel of the tiles against her cheek.

She vaguely remembers the conversation with Kurt, the pain in her hand, and the unopened bottle of Whiskey that she pulled out of her freezer and Quinn bunches them all together in the same giant blur. She pushes herself into a seated position and winces when her head finally feels as unsettled as her body and heart.

She looks at the half-empty bottle of Whiskey and grimaces. She was never very good at coping, she was never very good at living. Quinn reaches for her counter with a sigh and almost slips when her hands miss the edge completely. She lets out a sharp laugh and falls to her side, her hands gripping the floor pointlessly.

It's just all so  _fucking fuzzy._

"Quinn?"

Quinn freezes, her vision swimming with her mind at the sound of  _her_ , and for a second she almost thinks she imagined it. The voice, the relationship, the  _love._ And just like always, Quinn can't bring herself to ignore it.

"Santana?"

She doesn't hear a response and decides that perhaps it was all a hallucination that she conjured up in her drunken stupor. But then she feels these arms wrap around her waist. She feels strong arms wrap around her waist and real breath hot against her ear, and she feels hope when she hears words. "Oh, Quinn. What did you do?"

Quinn leans into the body behind her, her limbs too soft and noodle like to let her stand on her own. Her drunken mind doesn't question how Santana got in or why she's even here in the first place. Instead she lets Santana carry her over towards her couch-her damned, cursed, regrettable couch.

Because the cursed should always lie where they live.

Santana sets her down far more gently than she had ever picked Quinn up and it opens the things Quinn had struggled with only moments before. It opened the gates that no amount of alcohol could truly every bury down.

"How did you get in here?" Quinn asks, her words slurring together into one long jumble, as Santana settles in next to her.

Quinn doesn't worry about Santana understanding her, she already knows that Santana is fluent in the language of  _Quinn_. She always has been. The only thing that throws Quinn off is Santana's attire. Santana's wearing sweatpants and it's a sign that this wasn't in her plan from the get-go. Santana's hair is tied up in a loose bun and her shirt is hanging carelessly off of her shoulder, which is another sign that Santana's thrown caution to the wind. When she sighs, Quinn knows that somethings happened, but it's wrapped around the secret smile that Santana's always given her so Quinn decides to keep her silence. "I know you think that putting the spare above your door frame is clever, but everyone and their mother could find that hiding spot."

Quinn tries to scoff but it turns more into a sloppy raspberry that unfortunately lands all over Santana's face. "Why?"

Santana scrunches her face together in response and wipes at her face. "I overheard Kurt and Rachel."

Quinn looks away despondently, her eyes blurring. "Oh."

"Yeah," Santana agrees quietly. "I came to check on you."

Quinn lets out a low whistle, her hand brushing against Santana's cotton sweats. Quinn originally meant to grab her hand but her hand/eye coordination is a tad bit off, and instead just ends up gripping Santana's pants awkwardly. "How sweet."

"I'm sorry."

When Quinn's gaze meets Santana's again, she's surprised to find Santana's brown eyes misting. "For what?"

Santana sighs and reaches for Quinn, her arms easily pulling Quinn into her body. Quinn doesn't fight it. She's tired of fighting it and she's tired of today and she's...just  _tired._  Because they  _fit_. They fit, just like they always have, and it's a good reminder to hold onto when everything else feels so different.

Different but similar. Always and forever.

So she holds on, her fingernails digging into Santana's skin like she's the only raft Quinn has to hold onto. And Santana holds her and it  _shows_  how the years have changed because this is where they are now, this is what they have, and Santana's not running away. She's here and maybe it's because she feels guilty but maybe it's because Santana feels something else, too.

"For it having to be Rachel," Santana admits.

Quinn unconsciously nuzzles into Santana. "Wait." Quinn states when Santana's words finally register. "For what having to be Rachel?"

"For e _verything_  having to be Rachel," Santana clarifies, her voice barely a whisper. "That Rachel had to be the one that was there for it all, that she always had to be the one that was there for  _you_. That Rachel had to accept those dynamics. That I  _wasn't_  anything. At least not when it mattered. Not when you needed it to matter."

"San-"

"I think about it a lot," Santana interrupts. "Everything that happened. I...I  _know_  that I grossly mishandled what we were, with all the class of a Kanye West acceptance speech. And I  _know_  that I'll never be able to change what I did." Santana licks her lips nervously. "I can't change what we were, but I can build on what we are. Even if it's just towards a friendship."

Quinn exhales so harshly at the truth of Santana's words, that it feels like she'll start breathing again. But she does, she always does. She doesn't protest when Santana leans back and pulls Quinn with her so that they're cuddling, Quinn's head nestling comfortably under Santana's chin and Santana's hands gripping around Quinn's middle tighter. "Why now?"

"Because…" Santana trails off, her lips brushing over the top of Quinn's head. Santana pulls away, and then she does the absolutely last thing that Quinn would have ever expected. Santana begins to  _sing_  and it's  _beautiful_.

 _(_ They've always been beautiful together, especially when they were falling apart. More so when they were falling together. _)_

" _In all my dreams dear, you seem to leave me. When I awake my poor heart pains_ ," Santana starts softly, her voice husky and low. " _So when you come back and make me happy, I'll forgive you dear, I'll take all the blame._ "

Quinn remembers the song so easily, so quickly, that she closes her eyes and lets the words wrap themselves snugly around her. Her body is sagging into Santana's side, with Santana's voice hanging awkwardly around them.

 _"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,"_  Santana sings into the open air, her voice rising with each line of the song.  _"You make me happy when skies are gray."_  Santana lulls and it pulls Quinn in, because she knows it's true. She can feel it.  _"You'll never know dear, how much I love you."_

 _"So please don't take,"_  Santana sings before brushing her lips over Quinn's forehead, her voice cracking. " _My sunshine_ ," Santana's lips brush against Quinn's cheek as Quinn starts to drift in and out of consciousness. " _Away_."

The last thing Quinn feels before she drifts off to sleep is Santana's lips against hers.


	8. I Never Loved Nobody Fully, Always One Foot On The Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Guess who has two thumbs and is not dead? - This girl! Yes, the comma Queen is back! After a year long hiatus of 'WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK'. Read, review, spread joy, notify me of inconsistencies. Whatever you want!
> 
> A/N 2: I'm going back and editing the earlier chapters of this story (mostly minor edits, I assure you). There are parts that I find wholly unnecessary or inappropriate for the story I was trying to tell. So, if over the course of the next month you notice changes in the previous chapters, it was done intentionally.

**PART SEVEN**

**(I Never Loved Nobody Fully, Always One Foot On The Ground)**

**(THIS IS HOW IT WORKS.)**

_**Two Weeks Later (give or take).** _

She wakes up to the smell of cinnamon and dark roasted coffee.

Her stomach rumbles (to which, Quinn grumbles) because even though Quinn's insane headache is telling her not to wake up yet, her stomach is wholeheartedly disagreeing. Quinn opens her eyes and tries not to squint at the sunshine that's so easily streaming through her windows. She wants to grumble at the sunshine and burrow further into her bed, but then Quinn gets hit with another wave of what smells like brewing coffee.

She doesn't even remember setting her coffee pot last night. But, honestly, it's been a rough couple of weeks for Quinn. She's spent the past two weeks trying to successfully juggle all the areas of her life, so it doesn't surprise her that she could have forgotten any of her actions from the previous days. After all, she pretty much crawls into bed every night hoping that tomorrow will be better and falls asleep utterly disappointed because Quinn knows deep down that it won't be.

Quinn shakes her head at the thought because (just like always) she doesn't want to think about it, any of it. But more specifically, Quinn doesn't want to think about it  _right now_. Not when the sun is shining so brightly and the day feels like it's full of possibilities. Not when Quinn feels like today she might get a handle on things (her emotions, her struggles, her obligations). Quinn doesn't want to think about her mother or how Quinn should be planning flights home instead of continuing to work on her future, because Quinn's already being blinded by the sunshine, she doesn't want to be blinded by regret too.

So she tells herself over and over, day after day, that things will get better and that she will deal with all of it. Just not  _right now._ It works, in a silly sort of way, because she knows the truth that has settled into her heart and burrowed its way so closely to the surface, and yet, Quinn keeps on going anyway. Quinn knows that she's lying to herself and she can't help but wonder if anyone else lives off the same mantra of  _not right now_  and if they too, have wondered, how  _not right now_ sounds almost exactly like  _never._

The crash coming from her kitchen (followed by a string of loud, brash curses) effectively draws Quinn's attention from her thoughts and pushes her towards actions. She pulls back her comforter and slides her legs out of her bed with far too much force. Her back doesn't appreciate sudden movements...or movement, really, so she's forced to inhale sharply when her back begins to spasm as the skin of her bare feet meet her cold floor.

Quinn takes a deep breath and does her best to sit completely still until the spasms pass. Once she feels confident enough in her ability to move without being limited by her past, she stands, and takes a few tentative steps towards her bedroom door. When Quinn makes it to the door without any further problems, she relaxes her posture and carelessly reaches for the umbrella that's lying by her bedroom door. She lifts the umbrella above her head and reaches for the doorknob, her fingers twisting the handle slowly before pulling her door open with a gentle  _whoosh_.

She sticks her head out first, the umbrella hovering firmly above her head. She's too far back to catch a glimpse of anything, however, so Quinn exits her bedroom and proceeds to walk through the small hallway that leads to her living room. She reaches the living room easily and in a matter of seconds. Again, she's met with nothing, so Quinn takes an abrupt left and begins scanning her kitchen for the culprit of the noise.

The sight that greets Quinn instead is curious. Curious, indeed.

Santana Lopez in all of her intruding glory is cooking on Quinn's stove in a pan that Quinn doesn't even remember owning. Santana has her hair pulled up into a loose bun and large headphones placed casually over her ears. She's wearing a black V-neck t-shirt and tight blue jeans, and she's  _dancing_  like she totally didn't break into Quinn's apartment, and like her presence isn't completely unannounced.

Quinn lowers the umbrella slightly before walking over to her kitchen. She watches as Santana flips a pancake, her head bobbing along to whatever song she has blasting through her headphones, her feet tapping to a beat Quinn can't quite catch.

The sight itself makes Quinn's defenses falter and she lowers the umbrella completely in response. The movement seems to catch the corner of Santana's peripheral vision, because she's turning to Quinn with a smile, her left hand pulling on her headphones until they successfully slide down to her neck. Santana holds the spatula up to her mouth like it's a microphone and croons out a sentence Quinn thinks she's heard before.

" _Take a deep breath, pick yourself up. Dust yourself off, and start it all over again_."

Quinn tilts her head to the left, questioningly. Her eyes narrowing out of pure curiosity. "Louis Armstrong?"

Santana shakes her head before clarifying. "Nat King Cole."

The image of where she first heard the tune before slides gracefully into her memory and Quinn hums in response. It was the summer from hell, she remembers, Sophomore Year. When the only thing that mattered to either of them was cooling down - even though everything around (between) them was heating up.

She can almost feel the rough water from Lima's only red fire hydrant hitting her in the side, and Santana's lips ghosting warm kisses across her bare shoulders. She can almost feel Santana's fingers, sticky with the ice cream she convinces Quinn to buy, gripping her wrist carelessly. Quinn can almost hear the song again, in the background, subtle but  _there,_ combining sweetly with the melody of Santana's laugh _._ She can almost taste the humidity in the air, she can almost see the heat burning her pale skin, along with Santana's lips.

"Quinn?"

Quinn jerks her head quickly to the right, the memory fading back into the background, almost too quickly. "Yeah?"

Santana stares at her in response, and for a second Quinn  _almost_  believes that Santana was there with her too, in that moment and in that memory. But then Santana averts her gaze and points at the umbrella that Quinn is still holding onto. "Nice sleeping gear, Inspector Gadget."

"I thought you were an intruder," Quinn explains, her shoulders shrugging noncommittally.

"So, your first instinct was to Mary Poppins me to death?"

Quinn glares at Santana and drops the umbrella on the ground. "My first instinct was to see why there was somebody in my apartment without my permission."

Santana rolls her eyes affectionately before turning back to Quinn's oven. She reaches out to turn the burners off and grabs one of the plates she had set out with her left hand. She turns back towards Quinn and places the plate in front of her. Quinn raises an eyebrow at the sight before her. There's a pancake, three strips of bacon, and a sunny-side up egg sitting in front of her with a fork, and if Quinn wasn't so bewildered by all of it, she would have made a comment about how Santana was being so  _domestic._  Instead Quinn gives Santana a weary look and gestures wildly with her hands. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You eat it," Santana replies, her fork already digging into the plate she set for herself.

Quinn doesn't elaborate because she can tell that Santana knows that Quinn's referencing the life raft of friendship Santana is throwing at her, not the food. Instead, she sighs because she's too tired to have  _another_  one of these talks. Instead she slides onto the stool seated next to her kitchen island and grabs the fork from the plate. Quinn sticks the fork into her pancake and brings the entire thing to her mouth. She pretends like she doesn't feel Santana's eyes on her as she takes a bite.

It kills her, because of course the pancake is fucking delicious. It's a little bit of cinnamon, a handful of chocolate chips, and a dash of something Quinn can't quite place. The groan that leaves Quinn's mouth in response is completely involuntary, and Quinn tries not to pay any notice to Santana's smirk as she proceeds to take another bite of the delicious creation in front of her.

It is, perhaps, the best food that's ever been made in Quinn's kitchen since she moved in. She's aware of how depressing that sounds when admitted, but it doesn't make it any less true. Quinn never took the time to really learn how to cook. She's more of a takeout sort-of girl because cooking requires far too much commitment that Quinn just can't resign herself too. It possessed a sort-of forethought that Quinn wasn't sure how to achieve (especially now) and honestly, cooking for one had a bit of an unpleasant ring to it.

"Phanks," Quinn mumbles around a mouth full of pancake. The cheerleader from high school scolds her from within, while the little outcast Lucy continues to cheer at her devolving manners (the manners that took Quinn so long to craft, to earn, and to  _learn_ ).

Santana tilts her head to the side, her hands hovering awkwardly in front of her plate. Quinn can tell from the way that Santana is gripping the fork that she wants to say something but is holding it back. Quinn doesn't pry (even though she wants to), instead she continues to chew her pancakes, with her mouth mostly closed and her gaze lingering on her old co-captain.

Whatever had taken over Santana, passes, and she lowers her hands to the plate in front of her. Santana sticks her silverware into what's left of the breakfast on her plate and proceeds to the shove 3/4ths of an enormous pancake into her mouth. Quinn raises her eyebrow at Santana's lack of manners and also at her amazing feat, and swallows heavily when Santana's gaze decides to steady instead of sway and proceeds to still on Quinn – always on Quinn.

"Phour Vwelchome."

A chunk of pancake escapes Santana's mouth and proceeds to come hurtling at Quinn, and before she knows it, they're both on the floor laughing like they're sixteen again. When all that mattered was the  _forever_ that could so easily be imagined in boring classrooms or empty beds; the secret promises whispered so carefully around emptiness-and always being so  _sure_  of one thing.

And she can't help but think that maybe  _this_ is what  _growing_ feels like.

Growing up, growing on, and growing old.

It takes them a full thirty minutes to pick themselves up off the floor and get back to their breakfast. The food is cold but they've spent too many years following Sue's outrageous dietary requirements (aka liquid diets) to let a little thing like cold food ruin their breakfast.

They finish what's left of their breakfast in a peaceful silence. Quinn pretends not to notice the soft glances that Santana sends Quinn's way and Santana pretends not to notice the way Quinn's left hand taps against her kitchen counter anxiously. It's an ebb and flow that almost sits still with the past, and Quinn has to remind herself repeatedly that no matter how similar all of this feels - no matter how alike the misfortune of now is to the misfortune from her past- history is  _not_  repeating itself.

Both of their plates are quickly cleared and once all the food has been eaten, Santana doesn't waste time before reaching across Quinn's kitchen island for their dirty plates. Quinn's eyes hover on Santana's backside as she places both dishes in Quinn's sink. She used to be good at reading body language. More specifically, Quinn used to be good at reading Santana, but as she stares helplessly at Santana's back, Quinn can't say she can read anything from Santana or this situation. She knows what she feels and she knows what she's used to and gosh, Quinn knows what she  _wants_ —not the wants she craves physically, but the wants that go back to Lima, Ohio and six year old girls listening intently to bedtime stories.

"So, Q," Santana says after turning around, interrupting the blanket of silence that has settled over them. "What's on the schedule?"

Quinn frowns at the abruptness of Santana's question, her thoughts are somewhere else— _obviously,_ someplace else—as usual. "Huh?"

Santana grunts in response and an exasperated whine escapes from her lips. "What are your plans for the day?"

Quinn stares at Santana incredulously, her right eyebrow raised suspiciously at Santana's curious tone. "I don't know," Quinn answers, and when Santana doesn't budge or continue the conversation Quinn brushes her hair out of her eyes and sighs. "I don't have classes today so I'll probably stay home and read." She almost adds ' _because it's easy'_ but decides that some things are just better left unspoken.

"How wild," Santana remarks dryly.

"Shut up."

Santana smiles openly, her teeth completely bare and oddly enough, it all looks so clear to Quinn. "Maybe you should make some friends."

"I have friends," Quinn states defensively, because it's true. She has Rachel and Santana and  _maybe_  even Kurt (on a good day).

Santana huffs, her face suddenly serious. "I meant  _new_  friends, Quinn."

"Why?" Quinn asks even though she already knows the answer. She knows  _why_ Santana is suggesting that Quinn surround herself with other people (people who don't carry her history alongside theirs) and she wants to hear Santana say it. She wants to hear Santana admit that Quinn is as screwed up as she feels and that Santana is concerned that she'll get into another car again, carelessly turning into the direction of oncoming traffic.

She wants the concern admitted aloud, the worry that Quinn will disappear without a word into the wind, never to be found again. She wants Santana to admit that she's concerned about the fact that Quinn only has ties to now because of then. She wants to hear someone be honest, for once, that they're worried she'll continue on with an air of indifference, with a lack of emotion, with no real care as to whether things will end well or end poorly-when in reality she's so far down the rabbit hole that sometimes she thinks there's no way she'll ever make it out again.

She wants to hear someone say that they're worried about the past repeating itself because Quinn  _is_  so obviously worried about that, too.

Instead, Santana shrugs. Santana proceeds to place her elbows on Quinn's counter and leans forward, "It doesn't hurt to widen your pool of people, right?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Plus," Santana pauses, her gaze focusing on Quinn hesitantly. "I, uh," Santana's hands move to pick at nonexistent lint on her shirt, her gaze lowering to the kitchen counter. "Um, I worry about you."

It's more than an omission. It's the honesty that Quinn has been craving to hear since her boat capsized. Yes, Santana has been somewhat honest with Quinn about their relationship and where it stands for her, but they have yet to grace the surface of the past. There are questions that have been buried in silence, questions that continue to weigh heavy in the air. There are curiosities surrounding the years they spent apart and even some of the years they spent together. And honestly? It's refreshing to hear Santana admit—without admitting—that they both know one another too well and yet, somehow, not at all.

Quinn rolls her eyes playfully in response because she can appreciate this honesty, her smirk is weak but it's  _there._ "Whatever."

"So, uh, you can hang out with me today," Santana comments, genuinely, offhandedly. Santana's fingers are still picking at her shirt nervously and Quinn has to fight the urge to leap across the table to still Santana's hands with hers. "If you want." Santana adds quickly. "I  _mean_ , you can come with me if you would like to. But I know how hard it is for you to pass up a day of reading."

The choice is there and Quinn knows that Santana is doing it for her, that Santana's giving her options. Opportunities to back out of whatever this is. Santana stares at Quinn with bated breath, as if she's worried any sudden movements will throw Quinn and her off course.

"I'll come with you."

Santana releases her breathe almost dramatically before sending Quinn an open grin. "Really?"

Quinn nods, attempting to portray the conviction that she feels with this decision, with a simple shake of her head. "I just need to change into something more appropriate. Then we can leave."

"So you're not wearing those pajamas out today? What a shame."

Quinn ignores Santana's comment and slips off the stool. She turns towards her bedroom and starts to walk over. She lifts her right hand over her shoulder, and flips Santana off .

"That's more like it!"

* * *

It doesn't take long for Quinn to put an outfit together (a maroon sweater with an wool coat and plain black jeans) and follow Santana to the Subway station, silence settling over their conversation. Quinn doesn't want to be the first to break it, the comfortable way in which they move together, when there's no words to get in between them. But she's not sixteen anymore, and she doesn't trust Santana on blind faith.

Quinn waits until the doors close behind them, and the train lurches forward, to speak. "Where are we going?"

"The Bronx," Santana answers, her eyes scanning over Quinn's head for any empty seats.

"What the heck is in the Bronx?"

"My class."

"Class," Quinn repeats, the word heavy on her tongue. "Class?"

Santana lowers her gaze to Quinn's. "Um, yeah. I take a class on Wednesdays and Fridays at this community college in the Bronx," Santana answers, before adding, as an afterthought. "There's this bitchin' record store and little book shop nearby that I think you'll like."

Quinn doesn't allow herself to get caught up in Santana's afterthought, because that's always been her problem. "Classes for what?"

Santana clears her throat. "I'm working on getting my degree in social services. To be a, uh," Santana gives Quinn a nervous smile, "a social worker."

Quinn is quite clearly caught off guard and has to grasp the pole next to her to keep herself from losing her balance. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, well most people don't. They see tight dresses and a great rack and just assume that's my whole life. Most people are surprised when they find out," Santana adds, her voice somber as she kicks at the ground sheepishly. "It's okay to be surprised."

She  _is_ , she really is, but Quinn's more surprised by the fact that she's missed out on something else. "How come you never told me?"

Santana shrugs. "You never asked."

It's not meant to hurt, but it does, because it's just another reminder that Quinn doesn't invest herself into Santana's life anymore. It hits her squarely in her chest, the sadness that can come from simply  _missing_  things.

Quinn stares at Santana for a long moment, her eyes examining every visible inch, searching for differences that aren't physical. Her search leads to more questions than answers, and Quinn has to remind herself that it's possible for the person standing before her to be  _both_  the Santana that Quinn knew, and somehow not her at all.

"You're right," Quinn concedes, her palm sweaty against the pole. "You're absolutely right."

It's clear from how quickly Santana's head jerks back that Quinn's answer wasn't the one that Santana was expecting. Santana quickly puts on a brave face, her voice clear. "I mean, of  _course_ I am."

"Yeah," Quinn answers with a laugh. "Maybe it's time...that changes."

"Really?"

"Yes," Quinn says, her fingers tightening around the pole to steady her body (and hopefully her words). " _Really_."

"Okay," Santana says with a nod, a small smile gracing her lips. Quinn somehow manages to hold Santana's gaze as Santana leans forward and pulls at the collar of Quinn's coat playfully. Quinn doesn't get a chance to respond, before Santana's body manages to migrate closer as the doors open and more people file into the subway cart. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship _."_

"God, you totally just ruined the moment," Quinn says, a genuine smile growing across her face.

"Somehow, I don't think that I did."


End file.
